


Siege Warfare

by HeartbreakTerrorBird



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Alien Sex, BDSM, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Master/Servant, Xenophobia, bird politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 51,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartbreakTerrorBird/pseuds/HeartbreakTerrorBird
Summary: A collection of one-shots set over the course of SkekVar and his Emperor's relationship.SkekVar is a soldier, he understands that his courtship of the Emperor is a siege not a battle. Nothing will be decided decisively, it is not a battle of force or numbers, it is a slow, painful wearing down of the enemies resistance.The Emperor does not harbour any particular affections for his General, not at all. Nope. No favouritism, no preferential treatment. He doesn't care for SkekVar at all.
Relationships: SkekVar/SkekSo, skekAyuk/skekEkt (Dark Crystal), skekSil/skekUng (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 70





	1. Massage Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for horrid formatting, I don't know how to improve it.

The Emperor sighs, head pillowed on his arms. His Ambassador has been rubbing warm oil into his back for almost an hour and is still finding gnarly knots to work out. SkekVar has delightfully strong, rough hands,  
“Of course, I have no interest in conquering those pitiful desert creatures, but if it keeps SkekGra distracted and out of my way, and SkekSa in my service instead of in the service of those filthy Gelfling, then it serves my purposes well enough.”  
“Very wise, sire.” SkekVar hums, attention on his work.  
“She is growing too fond of them. They have turned her head with some charm I am unable to see.” He sniffs, “We must be careful they don’t grow too emboldened by her favouritism. I don’t want them getting any ideas above their station.”  
SkekVar hums an affirmative. The Emperor scowls,  
“Do you find yourself growing fond of your Gelfling, Ambassador?”  
“No, sire,” SkekVar grunts, a little more attentive to the one-sided conversation, “I find it troublesome to bother with them at all. I’d rather be killing them than talking to them. All they do is talk talk talk. About songs, and Thra, and crawlies, and walkies, and all other things I don’t care about.”  
The Emperor smiles and lets his eyes close,  
“And yet you continue to serve as my Abassador. How you must suffer.” He purrs,  
“It is an honour to serve you in any capacity, sire.”  
“I know.”  
“May I move onto your legs?”  
“Yes,” the Emperor replies, “But no funny business.”  
He cracks open one heavy purple eyelid and looks pointedly at his Ambassador’s leaking erections. SkekVar bows his head,  
“No, sire.”

He shuffles down the bed and pours the warm oil into the palm of his hand, rubs them together and then begins to squeeze and stroke his Emperor’s muscular thigh. The Emperor groans and lets his head drop back down onto his arms, tipping his tail to the side so that he has better access to his upper thigh.  
Poor Ambassador, he has been so hard for so long. What a pity.  
He smiles. He is hard himself, his cocks pressed between his stomach and the soft bedsheets, but it is easier for him to resist the temptation than it is for the Ambassador: he knows he will get to cum, SkekVar can only hope.  
SkekVar’s claws scratch up close to his cloacal hole and he groans and trembles,  
“Careful,” he purrs, “I wouldn’t want to think you were tempted to disobey me.”  
“Never, sire.” SkekVar pants.  
“Anything on your mind, Ambassador?” SkekSo laughs at his own joke, “Of course not. When is there?”  
SkekVar doesn’t answer him.  
He lies there for a few moments and then tilts his head to watch his Ambassador’s face. When SkekVar notices him watching him he tries to school his expression, but it is too late.  
“You don’t enjoy my jest, Ambassador?”  
“No, sire, I mean, yes, sire. I- It is simply: I’m not stupid, sire.”  
SkekSo quirks one brow at him,  
“Oh, Ambassador?”  
SkekVar snorts and snuffles, keeps his face turned towards his Emperor’s legs, afraid to look him in the eye,  
“I know I am not smart, sire.” He says, “But I am not stupid. Everyone thinks that I am stupid. I’m not clever like that weakling Scientist, or-” he breaks off and grimaces in disgust, “Chamberlain.”  
SkekSo wrinkles his beak,  
“That snivelling wretch.”  
SkekVar snorts in hearty agreement.  
“I am not smart like Chamberlain,” he says, “But I am not so stupid that I do not see Chamberlain.”  
He glances out of the corner of his eye to his Emperor’s face, and his look is anxious.  
“What is it, Ambassador. Speak your mind.”  
“I do not like Chamberlain, sire. I think… he is dangerous, sire. He cannot be trusted. You should not allow him near you.”  
“Of course, he’s dangerous, Ambassador, that is why I keep him around.”  
“I know, sire, and you are wise but…”  
“You fear him?”  
“I do not know what he is capable of, sire, and I fear what I do not know.”  
The Emperor smirks,  
“Then you must fear a many great things, Ambassador.”  
SkekVar snorts, irritated and the Emperor almost scolds him, but the Ambassador catches himself in time and shoots his lord an apologetic look.  
“You wish me to send Chamberlain away,” SkekSo says, “but out of my sight he would be deadly. I must keep him near, let him be blinded by his own single-minded pursuit for the throne. Kept blinkered by the court he is unable to see other routes through which he might more successfully steal my power.”  
SkekVar snorts thoughtfully,  
“Yes, sire.”  
The Emperor frowns again,  
“You don’t sound convinced, Ambassador. You think my logic is flawed.”  
“No, sire.” SkekVar replies, “It’s just… I don’t want Chamberlain sent away, sire. I think you should kill him.”  
The Emperor pushes himself up on his arms, hissing, and SkekVar draws his hands away from him and clasps them together in front of his stomach,  
“Skeksis do not kill Skeksis, Ambassador!”  
“I know that, sire, and you obey such a rule because you are noble. Because you care about the well-being of our race.” He speaks gently, concern, perhaps fear in his soft eyes, “But Chamberlain has no such restrictions.”  
The Emperor frowns, exhales threw his nostrils. It seems he struggles to remain angry with his Ambassador. This is a habit he will have to curb before it becomes a weakness. He lies back down on the bed,  
“You wish for me to kill Chamberlain before he kills me.” He says.  
“Yes, sire.”  
The Ambassador’s hands rest on his back, not massaging, just touching.  
“I would do anything to protect you, sire. Order me to kill Chamberlain, then exile me in punishment if you must. I would go. For you I would suffer anything, as long as I knew you were safe.”  
SkekSo exhales again and then hums.  
“I’ll take your concerns into consideration.” He says, ending the conversation.  
SkekVar’s shoulders sag. He nods.  
The Emperor rolls over on his back, erections bouncing up proud and eager. He reaches out one clawed hand to his Ambassador’s cocks,  
“Now come here,” He says, “Stop thinking, and do something you are good at.”


	2. You get what you ask for

“Well done, Ambassador.” The Emperor rumbles, “You have done well. You are dismissed.”  
SkekVar opens his beak, pauses, flicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and then finally firms up the courage to commit,  
“Please, sire,” he says, “I have served you well. I have worked hard. May I request something of you? A token of your favour for my service?”  
The Emperor turns to him. Perched in his huge, hard throne he grows so still and so stiff that he appears to be growing out of the stone chair itself. His look of contempt is chilling, and SkekVar feels his knees begin to tremble.  
“Excuse me?”  
“My apologies, sire, forgive me. I misspoke, sire,” he bows quickly, bobbing up and down at the waist, “Please, sire, forgive. I should never have spoken.”  
“You demand a reward, Ambassador? For doing your duty to your Emperor? Your duty to the Skeksis?”  
“You are right, sire, I should never have- I should never have spoken. I will leave.”  
He steps back,  
“No!” The Emperor snaps, lips pulled up in a sadistic sneer, “No, Ambassador. Please, tell me, what does my Ambassador demand as his reward for his hard work? What does the Ambassador demand of his Emperor?”  
“Sire, please,” SkekVar begs, eyes drilling through the floor, sweat dripping from his forehead, “Please, sire, I misspoke.”  
“No, Ambassador, tell me.”  
“Sire, I meant nothing by it, sire, it was a mistake-”  
“Tell me, Ambassador!” The Emperor snarls, “Or I will do worse to you than dangling you by the tail!”  
SkekVar trembles. His heart is pounding, his knees wobbling. He squeezes his eyes shut, wrings his hands.  
“I, sire-I, forgive me, sire. I only wanted- I only wanted-”  
“Spit it out.”  
“I only wished to suck you, sire.”  
The Emperor is silent. SkekVar snaps his beak closed and keeps it closed.  
The Emperor taps his talons on the arm of his throne and the sound echoes around the empty throne room.  
“I see.” He says, all the rage blown out of his voice, “You wished to…” he trails off, his knee twitches.  
“Tell me, Ambassador, what exactly you wanted?”  
SkekVar swallows around a huge lump in his throat. He chances a glance up and immediately regrets it, the Emperor’s stare in piercing.  
“I-I-”  
“Stop stuttering, it’s tiresome!” He snaps.  
SkekVar squeezes his hands,  
“I wanted to suck you, sire. Your cocks, sire.”  
“Yes, I assumed that.” He waits expectantly.  
SkekVar glances up at him again, then squeezes his eyes shut like a guilty dog,  
“I- I have fantasised about it, sire. About sucking you, sire, pleasuring you with my tongue and mouth. I-”  
“You want me to cum in your mouth, Ambassador.” The Emperor says, and his voice sounds different, a little low, a little rough, so much so that SkekVar looks up again at him hopefully.  
“Yes, sire.” He answers, taking off his helmet and holding it to his chest.  
“And would you swallow, Ambassador.”  
“Of course, sire.” He says, snorting, “It would be an honour.”  
The Emperor’s fingers begin to tap fitfully on the arm on his throne again.  
“I see.” He says, “Well, I suppose I cannot refuse such an easily fulfilled request. I am, after all, a merciful and generous Emperor.”  
SkekVar blinks stupidly,  
“Sire?”  
The Emperor wrinkles his beak, reaches down and hoists up his skirts around his waist exposing his hard, fully erect cocks,  
“You may suck, Ambassador.” 

SkekVar licks his beak, hurries down to his knees between his Emperor’s legs. His helmet clangs loudly on the floor as he drops it in his haste. He pauses, hands hovering, then he places them on his Emperor’s bony knees.  
“Sire,” he sighs, taking in the sight. His Emperor’s cocks are gorgeous, long and straight and elegant like the Emperor himself, and flushed a black-purple. He glances up eagerly and then loses confidence and grows coy,  
“Sire, may I- may I take the lead? Suck as I wish?”  
The Emperor frowns,  
“Very well, but I withhold the right to give direction if you fail to please me.”  
“Of course, sire.” SkekVar says, bowing his head.  
He leans forward and blows a hot breath over the Emperor’s heads and the Emperor exhales raggedly. SkekVar’s hands slide up the inside of his knees, massaging his thighs, stroking the crease where his legs meet his body, stroking the base of his tail, tracing around his cloacal hole and the root of his cocks with featherlight touches.  
“Ambassador.” The Emperor grunts, rocking his hips.  
“My apologies, sire.” SkekVar replies, and he leans forward and curls his tongue around all three heads squeezing them. The Emperor groans, and then bites down on the sound as his Ambassador begins to squeeze and massage his lengths with his prickly, wet, muscular tongue. His hand, roughened by handling the hilt of his sword, grasps the Emperor at the base and squeezes, stroking in time with his tongue. Long slow, squeezing strokes. The Emperor grits his teeth to avoid groaning as his heads bead with precum and SkekVar flicks and swipes his tongue over them cleaning it off.  
“Your mouth.” He hisses, clenching his fists on the arms of his throne.  
SkekVar doesn’t reply, just opens his wide, large mouth and takes the Emperor’s cocks into it hollowing his cheeks and flexing his tongue. He bobs his head, swirling and flicking his tongue, massaging the root with one hand. As his Emperor’s heads rub against the soft inside wall of his mouth, he reaches down to hoist up his own dress,  
“Don’t!” The Emperor snaps, “Don’t touch!”  
SkekVar’s hand jumps back up to rest on his Emperor’s knee,  
“My hole,” the Emperor rasps, and SkekVar’s eyes light up. His free hand reaches under the Emperor’s cocks to his cloacal hole and he presses his thumb into it. The Emperor groans, rocking his hips and spreading his knees to give him better access. SkekVar’s thumb talon scratches him as it penetrates him and SkekSo moans at the pain, thrusting himself up into his Ambassador’s warm soft mouth and then down onto his thumb.  
“Finger me.” He groans, and SkekVar pulls his thumb out and replaces it with a crooked finger and then a second one, stretching him, and begins massaging the internal root of his cocks and his cloacal walls. The Emperor throws his head back gasping and knots his hand in the hair on the back of his Ambassador’s head scratching his scalp and neck.  
“Oh yes,” he groans, “Continue, Ambassador.”

SkekVar closes his eyes and concentrates on his work. Squeezing and stroking up and down and around the Emperor’s throbbing, twitching lengths. He draws back, lets them slip from his mouth and flicks his tongue over each head lightly. Separating them, he squeezes two in one hand and lavishes attention on the other with his tongue and then switches and repeats with each of the cocks. They are leaking heavily and he takes them eagerly back into his mouth groaning with pleasure, and groans again as the Emperor answers him with a throaty moan. The Emperor’s thighs are twitching and his other hand comes down to rest on SkekVar’s cheek and jaw as he begins to roll his hips, fucking his Ambassador’s face. SkekVar groans again, and they moan together, feeding off of each other’s pleasure.  
The Emperor’s head is thrown back, his beak hanging open, his tongue lolling out. He flicks it back into his mouth to pant,  
“Oh yes, Ambassador, I am going to reward you.” He presses down harder on the back of SkekVar’s head, and thrusts into his throat, panting. His thighs are shivering, his hole clenching around SkekVar’s curled stroking fingers. He clenches his teeth, his jaw muscles flex, he bangs his head back against the throne as he thrusts sharply up into SkekVar’s throat, gasping. SkekVar chokes and then moans as his Emperor fills his mouth and throat with his hot cum. He squeezes his cocks furiously with his tongue, massaging every last drop of his Emperor’s gift from him and the Emperor moans, open mouthed and breathless as he’s milked.  
Gasping, the Emperor licks his beak, blinks his heavy eyelids, and purrs,  
“You’re welcome, Ambassador.”


	3. Where something used to be

SkekSo prickles, spines springing up,  
“Pathetic!” he snarls, “Imbecile! You think you can harness your Emperor! You dare!”  
He slashes his claws across SkekVar’s chest, gouging out three great crevasses of flesh,  
“I am not so weak to harbour such pitiful emotions!”  
SkekVar pulls out, sits back on his knees. He’s softened and retracted immediately,  
“My apologies, sire.” He says, voice soft and sad, “I did not intend to say such a thing. I overstepped.”  
“Your pitiful emotions are no burden of mine, General! Your weakness disgusts me.”  
SkekSo hisses spits at him, slaps him open-palmed across the face. SkekVar shakes his head, lowers his eyes and climbs off the bed,  
“I have not dismissed you!” His Emperor snarls, “Cum in me!”  
SkekVar bows at the waist,  
“I cannot, sire.” He says, “Forgive.”  
“I am not asking you,” the Emperor hisses, “I am commanding you.”  
“I cannot, sire.” SkekVar repeats, uncharacteristically stern.  
The Emperor’s beak and brow wrinkle with rage, he drags in a hissing, hateful breath,  
“You wretch.”  
SkekVar twitches but says nothing,  
“You weakling. Get out of my sight!”  
The General bows and gathers up his clothes in silence. He dresses himself in his robes and gathers up his armour under his arms, he bows once more,  
“Forgive me, sire.” He says, and leaves the Emperor’s bedchamber.

The Emperor is left alone, nude and shaking with rage. He rises and storms into his en-suite running a boiling hot bath. He casts his eyes around the room, finds a glass jar of rose petals, empties it into the bath and then, catching sight of himself in a mirror, he dashes it into the glass. They smash each other and scatter the ground with crystalline shards.

The Emperor climbs into his bath, scalding himself, hissing with pain, and he washes himself roughly and quickly. He is thinking on SkekVar, working himself into a deeper rage. The wretch had had the nerve… the wretch had had the nerve to try and possess him! To try and take ownership of his Emperor! To assume they were lovers and not master and servant! He snarls and slashes at the steaming bath water and then slumps down until the water is lapping around his beak. He narrows his eyes into slits and stares at the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had been. A blankness, an emptiness defined by the line that marked where it used to be. He inhales a hissing breath through his beak. It is his own fault, he supposes, he has allowed himself to use SkekVar without consideration. He has unconsciously forgone other Skeksis in favour of SkekVar, well-trained SkekVar, and the fool has taken it as an emotional favouritism instead of a practicality. He heaves his narrow chest up in a sigh. He will have to distance himself from his General, but he will have to be careful. The General had mentioned the… forbidden word. The one word he had ordered the General to never bring into their arrangement. That word, that emotion, when soured is the most violent and unpredictable of all. If he were to refuse SkekVar’s affection too cruelly, spurn him too shamefully, then he could end up alienating his most loyal follower and turn him against his master. He snarls. How infuriating! The General had been doing so well! So many a trine wasted training him up. He shakes his head, tips it back to rest on the edge of the bath and closes his eyes. How tragic. 

He will have to start fucking some other Skeksis. Skek-Zok is too selfish, to engaged with fulfilling his own desires, SkekOk talks to much, Chamberlain is an obvious no, SkekLach and SkekGra too unpredictable and reliant on drugs, the control of Scientist is too dependent on withholding affection to risk any kind of relationship, SkekAyuk and SkekEkt are out, SkekUng is a possibility but like Chamberlain he is ambitious and untrustworthy, SkekSa would refuse him, and SkekShod is unappealing. SkekNa is a potential. He sighs again. This will take much consideration.  
“Why is it so hard to get fucked in this castle?” he says out loud.  
No wonder he grew so dependant on the General.  
“A basket full of stinking peachberries,” He rumbles, “and I have to pick from them.”  
He trails his hands through the water. The red and pink rose petals twist and dance in the tides. He lifts one and sniffs it and then pops it in his beak and chews it up. He tips his head back up and stares into the mirrored ceiling looking at his body,  
“How dare he.” He says. All of the heat has drained out of his voice and it comes out disconcertingly like a question.  
He pictures SkekVar in his mind. The brutes soft yellow eyes and idiotic smile. He heaves his chest in another sigh,  
“Only a fool,” he says, “Could believe an Emperor would have the luxury of owning a heart.”


	4. Punishment

SkekVar groans as the lash whips across his stomach. His torso is a mess of red welts and he writhes with every new stroke, rattling his chains against the wall. The bit in his mouth stops him from biting down on his tongue, and fills his mouth with drool that dribbles down his chest and over his stinging wounds. The Emperor brings the lash back and strikes him again, flicking his tongue over his teeth as he flicks the leather over his General’s stomach,  
“Have you had enough punishment, General?”  
SkekVar groans and shakes his head enthusiastically.   
The Emperor is painfully hard, his erections trapped against his stomach by his black silk lingerie one piece. He resists the desire to run his hand over himself, stroke himself through the material. The patience is part of the pleasure. He grins as he cracks the lash over his General’s torso, catching his nipples and eliciting a particularly delicious squeal of pain. He moans as his cocks throb and twitch,  
“Very good.” He purrs, “You take your punishment well, General.”   
He places the lash on the table and takes SkekVar’s heavy, hot erections in his hand stroking them slowly. SkekVar groans, shuddering, his cocks jumping at his Emperor’s touch.  
“Hush hush,” the Emperor purrs.  
He strokes him, long slow drags of his fingers and palms up his precum sticky lengths, squeezing them tightly together, swirling his thumb and rubbing his fingers over the heads. SkekVar whines and thrusts into his hand and he squeezes tight, holding him by the root, not letting him take anything he’s not been given.  
“Now now, General,” he snarls, “And you were doing so well.”  
He releases him, then brings his hand up and open palm slaps the General’s cocks. They bounce pleasingly as he screams in pain. The Emperor’s hand jumps by its own volition to stroke himself through his clothing, squeezing his aching members and staining the black silk with precum. He lets out a rasping gasp of pleasure and then begins to tap on SkekVar’s heads, starting lightly and growing harder. The General writhes and wriggles, trying to pull away from the pain but finding no recourse. It would be easy to think he wasn’t enjoying himself if it weren’t for the great heaving of his chest and the way his eyes roll back in his head with pleasure. That and the three huge, almost black flushed, leaking erections standing eager and desperate between his legs. His knees are trembling.  
“Ah, you want it,” the Emperor pants, taking SkekVar in one hand and stroking himself through his underwear with the other, “You want it don’t you, General?”  
SkekVar nods desperately.  
“Are those tears in your eyes, General?”  
He nods again.  
The Emperor groans,  
“Cry for me.” He moans and SkekVar squeezes his eyelids tight.   
Two, small sweet tears trickle from his eyes. The Emperor lets out an earth-shattering groan, his whole body shuddering as he comes. SkekVar moans, thrusting into his Emperor’s tight bony hand as he watches the Emperor’s cum soak through the black silk of his lingerie one-piece.   
The General keens, eyes wide, pupils blown, dribbling over his own chest, and SkekSo finally opens his eyes,  
“Ah, General,” he sighs, “I had forgotten about you. Cum for me.”  
SkekVar sighs in relief and then trembles as he shoots into his Emperor’s hand, three thick stripes of cum spilling over his Emperor’s fingers and palm. It only adds to the lubrication as his Emperor strokes him through his orgasm. When he’s done, he slumps down in his chains, held up by the handcuffs locking him to the wall, head resting on his chest.   
“Very good,” the Emperor purrs as he brings his hand to his mouth and licks it clean of SkekVar’s cum, “Very good, General. You have thoroughly appeased me. You are forgiven.”   
He reaches up and releases him from his bonds and SkekVar stumbles forward, struggling to find his feet, panting. He removes the bit from his mouth and massages his jaw,  
“Thank you, sire.” He sighs, “I will not disappoint you again.”  
The Emperor’s eyes crease with amusement as he turns away, flicking his tail, heading for the en-suite,  
“Make sure you don’t.” he purrs.


	5. A war isn't lost in a day

There is something appealing about SkekVar’s body, its mass, its sheer size. Immortality has blessed SkekVar’s body, touched it especial so that it does not brittle or wither. Next to the shrinking bodies of his brethren he appears un-bowed; the waters of time have washed by and failed to erode him. SkekSo slides his hands over the great plains of his General’s chest, the hills and valleys of his ribs, the mountain of his stomach. His touches could be misconstrued as worship, perhaps SkekVar has made that mistake (though he hopes his General knows better), but if the Emperor is worshipping anything it is vitality. 

SkekVar is a patient lover. Willing and able to bend to his Emperor’s every whim. He lies, indenting the Emperor’s red sheets, his lips in a gentle smile, his honey coloured eyes creased with affection, watching his Emperor’s stern face. Talons scratch lines over his chest. His back, stomach and thighs are red with lash marks, his wrists chafed by handcuffs. He lies still and waits as his Emperor takes what he wants. He is content to give whatever he has to give. Everything he has to give. There is nothing he would not offer to make his Emperor happy. For a General, he is bad at picking his battles. This is one he is certain to lose, and perhaps he knows it. He is, after all, not stupid, although many think he is. 

The Emperor is wise enough to know better. SkekVar is simple. He is trusting. He is sincere. Perhaps, for a Skeksis that is the ultimate form of idiocy, but there is something appealing about it, about the unselfish affection in his eyes. SkekVar wants nothing but to serve, and the Emperor wants nothing but to be unquestionably served. If the General’s pain causes the Emperor pleasure then it brings him pleasure too. But tonight, has not been about punishment, no, tonight has been about loyalty. Tonight, has been about ethics. 

As always, SkekVar has blossomed under pressure. He is at his most impressive when he is begging to serve, whether it’s on his knees or chained to the bed or the wall. Now the Emperor is indulging himself, perhaps foolishly, in the more vanilla pleasures and the General is happy to watch. Likes to see the Emperor take pleasure from his body, every inch of it. And if he receives pleasure it is only incidental.   
The Emperor hisses, arches his back, twitches his lips. Even in ecstasy he appears discontented. He drags his clawed hands down SkekVar’s stomach once more, leaving fresh red wounds, and clenches his trembling thighs around his waist. The General feels his eyes attempt to close and he forces them open so that he can continue to watch, his mouth open and panting as the Emperor throws his head back and exhales a shaking, rasping breath. They groan together, arching against one another, and SkekVar sags down into the bed, lips curled in a smile, satisfied that he has served his Emperor well. The Emperor continues to rock, beak open, tongue flapping, bruise-purple eyelids hanging heavy over his eyes. He cannot settle for less than everything, he cannot be satisfied until he is satisfied. Finally, shivering, he sags to the side and lowers himself onto the soft expanse of the bed and lies there wheezing. They lay together in silence. The Emperor aching to be touched but too proud to ask; too proud to make the effort of getting up and unlocking the handcuffs. 

SkekVar, aware that the Emperor would resent an open a show of affection, watches him out of the corner of his eye, his gaze travelling over his master’s body. He is beautiful, and he commits him to memory, every inch of him, so that he can warm himself later when he is alone and lonely, unsure of the Emperor’s affections. He wants nothing more that to be free of his bondage so that he can roll-over on top of his Emperor and penetrate him again. Rock them together, chest to chest, and stare into his eyes until they both merge into one. Some nights the Emperor has allowed him, but tonight he seems to be struggling to recover, short of breath, his bony chest rising and falling steeply. SkekVar knows better than to ask about his Emperor’s well-being and so he lies quietly and waits, snuffling and snorting.   
Eventually the Emperor raises himself enough to reach the handcuffs and unlocks them,  
“Clean me.” He rasps, and SkekVar, rubbing his sore wrists, rises and ambles into the adjoining ensuite to retrieve a cloth. 

The Emperor lies, panting and wheezing and waits. SkekVar returns, climbs onto his knees on the bed with a grunt and begins to clean his Emperor with gentle, long strokes of the warm flannel. He places kisses on his grey, wrinkled skin, where he washes him. The Emperor allows him his indulgence. When he’s done cleaning, he kisses his stomach, nuzzles down to bury his beak between his master’s legs. SkekSo slides his hand down to scratch his fingers through the black hair on the back of his General’s head, what little of it remains, and allows himself to he ministered to. To be worshipped. He shivers, clenches his hand in the bed sheets, and exhales a great rasping breath like he is dying. His eyes roll back, his eyelashes flutter over his pronounced, bony cheeks. SkekVar moans and kisses sloppy kisses back up his stomach and over his chest, licking and nibbling on his neck,  
“Enough.” The Emperor rasps, and the General pulls away, chastised.  
“Apologies, sire. Forgive me.” He dips his head.   
The Emperor swallows thickly, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. He feels drained. Once upon a time he could have continued all night. Now, he feels old.   
“You may leave me.” He says, and he closes his eyes so that the General may have the privacy he needs to look disappointed. 

There is a pause and then the bed shifts and SkekVar climbs off and goes to retrieve his robes and armour. The Emperor cracks open one eye to watch him dress. Runs his tongue over his teeth as the General hunches, pulling his robes on over his head, the muscles of his back rippling beneath his leathery green-grey skin. The red lash marks wriggle as his muscles flex and the sight sends a fresh burst of arousal through the Emperor. He briefly considers rescinding his order, but knows that it will make him appear weak, so he remains silent. He closes his eyes as SkekVar turns.   
The General looks once more to his master imploringly but finds him disinterested, already asleep. He heaves his great body in a sigh and places his helmet on his head. He should be content, he has served and satisfied his Emperor, and yet… He bows once more, although he knows it won’t be seen, and heads to the door. The corridor seems dim and uninviting. He steps out and pulls the door closed behind him. It is like closing a door on a dream. He shakes his head and snorts, frustrated and disappointed with himself for harbouring such selfish desires. He always waits for a moment outside of the door when he is dismissed, just in case the Emperor needs him and tries to call him back. Tonight, he waits a little longer than usual. When no call comes his gathers himself up and walks away, huge body rocking from side to side like a great boat in a choppy sea. Sometimes he feels like a great boat, all metal on the outside and full of soft things that might die when a too strong storm comes. Sometimes the winds blow so fiercely he feels like he might tip over and spill all of his insides out and into the sea. When he feels like that, he stands with his back to the wall and rests his beak on his chest and breathes and breathes until the sea-sickness goes away. He is filled with nausea now, in the dark, encroaching corridor. The ecstasy of his orgasm has bottomed out, plummeting into despair. His arms feel empty without the heat of the Emperor’s body. He buoys himself, tomorrow he will see him again. He will find some new way to please his Emperor and earn his favour. All will be right in the world. He nods to himself sternly and snorts. Yes, tomorrow is a new day. A war isn’t lost in a day.

The Emperor lies in his bed, a grey speck on the great red sea of his bedsheets. He feels sick, not because of the General but because of the now emptiness of the room. It is a sucking emptiness that seems to drain all of the heat and pleasure from his body. He crawls weakly beneath the bed sheets and draws them up under his beak. He lacks the strength to get up and put out the wall-lights, so he rings a bell that calls in the Podling slaves to put them out. It’s an annoyance, waiting while the little creature climbs up and down a wooden ladder tamping out the candles, but one he is forced to tolerate. He should have asked SkekVar to put them out for him, but the thought of SkekVar closing the door on him and leaving him in pitch darkness sends a thrill of terror through him that makes him shiver. When did he grow so fearful? 

When the Podling leaves, closing the door behind itself, he reaches up and removes his metal beak. There’s the wet sucking sound of it detaching and then metallic clunk as he places it down on the bedside table. He lies in bed shuddering. Brings his hand up and wipes a thick layer of mucus from his nose holes onto the bedsheet. Squeezing his eyes closed he rolls onto his side and presses his face into the mattress. It is still warm from SkekVar’s body, still smells of him. He breathes in deeply and shifts over to lay in the heat. Wraps his thin, brittle arms, around his thin, brittle ribs. He is afraid of SkekVar leaving, but too afraid to ask him to stay. Soon he will be immortal, he thinks to himself, soon there will be nothing left to fear and he will be able to ask SkekVar to stay as he pleases, perhaps order him to stay forever. His mouth curls up at the corner into a smile. Yes, tomorrow is another day. Another day for conquest, another day for victory over death. Tomorrow will bring the solution to all of his problems. He only has to outwait the night.


	6. Early Morning

The Emperor wakes softly from a pleasantly dreamless sleep. There are two torches lit, dimly illuminating the room and he blinks blearily until he can focus his vision. The General is standing, nude as the day they were split, hovering over the previous nights ‘pre-play feast’, a table laid out with all sorts of sweet and savoury treats and delicacies. A smorgasbord of their favourites. It is unusual for the Emperor to have the opportunity to observe his General unobserved and he makes the most of it. Enjoys the long, muscular line of his back, smiles as he watches SkekVar’s head twitch from side to side as he thinks, struggling with some problem. His elbows are bobbing up and down so he must be moving things on the table. They had made quite a mess last night, gotten a little raucous. At one point the General had slammed him down on top of that table knocking quite a lot of those bowls on the floor, but the floor is clean now so he must have woken sometime earlier and tidied. SkekVar is letting out little quiet snorts as he works and, finally, the Emperor coughs politely to let him know he is awake. He twists round, surprised,  
“Sire!” he exclaims, “My apologies, I did not mean to wake you.”  
“Never mind.” His Emperor replies, smiling, placid and comfortable wrapped up in his bed, “I’m willing to forgive.”  
The General turns, he is carrying two bowls one filled with his Emperor’s favoured foods,  
“I tried to pick out what you like, sire, but I wasn’t sure.” He carries them to the side of the bed and perches himself there holding one out for the Emperor to take,  
“Well done,” the Emperor purrs almost perfect, “Now, has any of this been on the floor?”  
He raises one arched brow, a smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth.   
SkekVar is a terrible liar,   
“Yes, sire.” He sighs, “But I have washed it.”  
The Emperor tuts,  
“You filthy boy.”

He eats anyway. SkekVar places his bowl on the bedside table and then pours and brings two goblets of wine for them to drink,  
“I’m sorry to have woken you, sire. I wanted to prepare something for you before I left.”  
“Hmm,” The Emperor hums, half-listening, “Feed me.” He purrs,  
SkekVar slips an insect into his Emperor’s mouth and he crushes against the roof with his tongue, then beckons his General in to kiss him, sharing it between their mouths. SkekVar sighs as he draws away,  
“Where are you going, General, that calls you away so… urgently?”   
SkekVar sighs again,  
“I am taking the guard on an early morning expedition to the Dark Wood, sire.”  
“Early morning?”  
“Yes, sire. While it is still dark out.”  
“Dark!” The Emperor barks, “What time is it?”  
SkekVar looks cowed, pitiful and apologetic,   
“Very early, sire. Forgive.”  
His Emperor sighs,  
“You are forgiven, but don’t forget my mercy.”  
“I will not, sire.”  
The Emperor places a small, sweet fruit in his mouth and pops it,  
“Why do you need to go so early, General?”  
“It’s a hunting expedition, sire.”  
“In the dark? In the Dark Wood? For the Gelfling?”  
“No, sire,” SkekVar replies, a sly, pleased smile beginning to turn up the corner of his mouth, “For SkekMal.”  
The Emperor bursts into laughter,  
“The Collector will be bringing me a new troop of guards to train soon, sire. I want to weed out the weaklings from my current troop.”  
“So, you’re handing them over to SkekMal.”  
“I’m walking them into the woods, sire. Whether they survive is their decision.”  
The Emperor laughs again,  
“Delightful.” he purrs, and he slides his hand un the inside of SkekVar’s thigh, “Sometimes you do surprise me.”  
SkekVar smiles, leans in and kisses him again,  
“I have to dress, sire.” He sighs into his Emperor’s mouth, “I cannot dally.”  
“Hmmm.”  
“My apologies.”  
“Hmmm.”  
SkekVar extradites himself from his Emperor’s clutches and stands.  
“I’ll watch you dress, General, but when you leave make sure to put out at least one of those candles. I am most certainly not intending on staying awake.”  
SkekVar smiles over his shoulder and his pulls his robe on over his head,  
“Yes, sire.”  
“And, General? I intend for you to make this early morning intrusion up to me, with a very very early night.”


	7. Night Time is the Right Time

The Emperor snorts himself awake, it takes him a moment to remember that the weight crushing his stomach and hips is the General, resting the top half of his torso and his head on his Emperor, using him like a cushion. He tries to twitch his legs; they’ve gone numb but he manages to flex his toes and bend his knees. The General grunts and snorts in his sleep, turns his head and leaves a line of drool over his Emperor’s bulging stomach. SkekSo wrinkles his beak in disgust but doesn’t try to wake him. SkekVar’s face is soft and slack in sleep, he looks somehow more gormless than the Emperor thought possible, but there’s also something… horrendously sweet about him. The Emperor sighs, lets his head tip back on his pillows, lets his eyes flicker closed. It would be so easy to simply lie here, comfortable and cradled by his pillows, warmed by SkekVar’s heavy hot body. He has grown weak over the trine and he knows it and it frightens him, and yet… a part of him wishes to embrace it. SkekVar’s loyalty is so true, his simple mind easy and unquestioning, that it is easy to feel safe.  
“An Emperor should never feel safe.” He says aloud, “That is when he dies.”  
He tips his beak down to peer at the top of his General’s bald head. He is nuzzling his Emperor in his sleep, his hands trailing up to rest on his hips and thighs, stroking them gently, petting them.  
“Look at you,” he whispers, “a fool.”  
Then he grunts,  
“I’m more of a fool than you, General.”  
He rests his hand on top of SkekVar’s head, scratches over his knobbled scalp. The General sighs deeply, content.   
Here, in the quiet cocoon of his bedchambers the Emperor can picture a more peaceful world, populated by more obliging and worshipful Skeksis. It is a dangerous delusion but one he’s willing to briefly indulge. The night is, after all, the time for dreams. He slides his open palms over SkekVar’s broad back, strokes the stubbly feathers between his spines, smiles as the General rumbles and sighs in his sleep.  
“Sleep your simple sleep, SkekVar,” He whispers, “I’ll need your strength in the morning. We have a world to bring to heel.”


	8. SkekVar is a Good Boy

"I need the pain," he wheezes, "I need to feel something!"  
Skeksis don't understand, self absorbed, sensual creatures, too engorged on their ceremony of living, so few of them are aware that every minute they live they die. SkekVar is weak and soft, there is pain in his eyes at the thought of hurting his Emperor, but pain is the only salve. Pain is the only true pleasure. 

The General is strong, his grip firm, his movement's steady. He raises the Emperor into the air until he is hanging, wheezing, his arms raised above his head, all of his weight weighing on his arms, on the manacles around his wrists, making it hard from him to breath.  
"Hurt me," He gasps, "I command you."  
SkekVar screws up his face in consternation but retrieves the whip regardless. He cracks it against the floor and the Emperor moans at the very sound. It's long, and glossy, black leather. A similar colour to SkekVar's cocks. Which are currently too nervous to make an appearance. The Emperor too is too afraid for arousal, but not of what he hopes is coming but of what he fears SkekVar will be unable to do for him. He needn't be afraid, SkekVar is his loyal servant.  
The whip cracks across the thin, soft skin of the Emperor's back splitting it in a razor red line. He arches, screaming with the pain and moaning with the ecstasy,  
"Are you well, sire?"  
"Yes," he hisses, "yes. Again."  
General raises the whip, and it cracks again, touches the Emperor's back. He screams, arches, moans. They repeat. At some point, as the red streaks grow, as the blood begins to dribble down his back and tail, his cocks jump free, hard and eager. He writhes in the air, the manacles and chains clanking and even the loud, discordant sound seems erotic. The General grabs him from behind, arms around his ribs, and his long firm tongue laps the blood from his master's back. The Emperor hisses and moans, arching against him, lifting his tail for him. He can feel SkekVar's erections hot and wet against his back and between his legs. The General bites him and shakes his head, tearing his skin. The Emperor hisses and moans, grinding against him harder.  
"Not yet," the General pants and he snarls.  
Then he's alone, hot and wet and hanging, shivering. The General returns, leans in to speak into his ear as he strokes the palm of one hand up the back of his Emperor's trembling thigh,  
"Here, sire," he whispers, "I hope you like it."  
He pulls back and then there's the dull thud of the leather, studded paddle striking the back of the Emperor's thigh. He groans, hisses a long  
"Yesssss!"  
Of approval as the General begins to spank him, striking him again and again until his bruised and tender and then switching sides. When he's done the Emperor is panting and whimpering. The paddle drops to the ground, bouncing and SkekVar grabs his Emperor up in his arms, licking and sucking the back of his neck,  
"Now," SkekSo moans, "Now."  
And SkekVar tucks his arm under his Emperor's knee, bending it up, lines himself up and penetrates him. It's glorious. He's tense and sensitive from the beating and every inch of SkekVar hurts as it enters him. He throws his head back, trembling and rests it on his General's shoulder as he begins snapping his hips. The Emperor's tongue lols out, his eyes roll back in his head. The General's arm is wrapped around his ribs and he slides his hand down his master's sensitive soft stomach to clasp his cocks, squeezing them so tight it's painful. SkekSo moans as his General strokes him how he likes it: rough and too tight. The pain, the pleasure, together are enough to empty his mind. To clear him out and fill him up until there is no room for the existential horror of existence. He doesn't even realise he is coming until it hits him, rushing over him, turning the world black. He collapses in SkekVar's arms as his General pants in his ear, hot and wet against his neck,  
"Emperor, Emperor…"  
SkekSo can't speak. His tongue feels heavy and uncooperative in his mouth, his eyelids flutter, he feels so weak, just a loose, soft body to be pleasured, to be filled, to give pleasure. To be used. 

The whole world has narrowed to heat and panting breaths, and the weight of his General's body against his back, and the warm flushes of pleasure that fill him with every thrust. He lifts his head, tilts it back, opens his mouth and lets SkekVar fill it with his tongue. The General comes. They moan together, breathing in each others breathe, then rest there. Just panting, chests heaving, bodies trembling.  
The General steps back and lowers him, then catches him in his arms as his legs fail him. SkekVar scoops him up, undoes the manacles and carries him to the bed, lowering him onto the sheets gently. He leans down and presses a kiss to the Emperor's chest, just above his heart.  
"Do you hurt, sire?"  
"Yes." He sighs, satisfied. Exhausted.  
"Rest, sire, I will clean you."  
The Emperor can barely keep his eyes open, SkekVar passes out of his field of vision and the world fades to darkness. A deep, dreamless sleep. 

Sleep is the final release. The blessed imposter of Death that shields the mind from the terror of living. SkekVar doesn't understand. When he returns, he smiles softly at his sleeping Emperor, his eyes creasing. He cleans him delicately and then carefully lifts him so that he may tuck him beneath the heavy bedcovers. When he is done, he stands back and smiles to himself, proud of his work. He nods, leans down once more to press a kiss to his Emperor's forehead and then dresses and leaves. SkekVar will sleep as he always sleeps, a deep and mostly dreamless sleep, and when he wakes in the morning he will wake as he always wakes: ready and eager to please his Emperor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and kind comments x


	9. Worship and Obsession

They have been kissing for over two hours. A long time ago the Emperor would have had no time for such affections, but he’s growing old and the urgency of sex has left him. Appreciation for sensuality comes with physical exhaustion. They are naked on the bedcovers, the Emperor’s head cradled by his red silk pillows. SkekVar is lying half on top of him, his knee tucked between the Emperor’s knees, his arm draped over the Emperor’s chest, his hand cradling the Emperor’s cheek. Their cocks are trapped between them, hard and hot but forgotten. All of the world has shrunk down to that space, the cradle of their arms. The General’s secondary arms caress the top of the Emperor’s head, the Emperor’s hands rest on his General’s back and waist, stroking and scratching his knobbled skin, his secondary hands cup SkekVar’s jaw as they kiss. Their tongues stroke each other lazily, their eyes are closed, they sigh, breathing in each other’s air, each other’s smell.   
For SkekVar this is ecstasy. His language of love is action. He cannot speak well, his words always seem to fail him, he can’t construct his thoughts how he would like. But action? Action is simple, action is clear. A thousand words can be singled down into a kiss, a touch. He slides his hand from the Emperor’s cheekbone, down his slender neck, over his bony shoulder, his ribs, his stomach, his hip bone, this thigh. He caresses every inch of him, and then his hand begins its journey up again. He cannot get enough of his Emperor. His favourite flavour is his skin, his favourite smell his musk, his favourite sound his voice. It is an obsession, and one the Emperor is happy to indulge. 

SkekVar’s tongue explores his Emperor’s mouth, the soft silk of the roof, the inside of his jagged teeth, his muscular long tongue, the very back of his throat. They drool over each other, drool over themselves. Lick the spit from each other’s faces. SkekVar draws away only so that he can bite and lap at his Emperor’s thin, bony neck and the hard ridges of his collar bones. The Emperor lets his head tips back, sighs and moans. Scratches his talons over SkekVar’s bald scalp. There’s something very sexy about his baldness, a powerful masculinity that the Emperor appreciates. SkekVar strokes his hand down his Emperors body, caressing his narrow chest and then cupping his breast, massaging it, fondling his nipples. 

Language, speech, are overrated. Chamberlain can speak well, ScrollKeeper can write well, but this is SkekVar’s domain: the domain of action. No one can worship the Emperor like he worships the Emperor: every touch an act of sacrament. He adores him, and pours his adoration into his acts, into his body. The Emperor has banned the word. Love. Forbidden it. It is his primary rule. Once that tormented SkekVar, made every moment together a test of will. Now he sees the Emperor’s wisdom. If he were to try and fit his love into words he would only fail. There are no words big enough, strong enough, all-encompassing enough to make sense of what he feels. He would die for his Emperor in a second, but would rather spend an eternity worshipping him.  
He draws back up and kisses his Emperor, deep and firm, pushing every drop of his adoration into his Emperor’s mouth, down the back of his throat. The Emperor moans as he draws away, looks at him from beneath purple, hooded eyes. Yes, his actions speak well enough.


	10. Dreams and Dream Meanings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys want me to specify where in the timeline each story is set? because they are not in chronological order. 
> 
> Basically:  
> Emperor is being a dick and SkekVar is desperately thirsty= they're very young (Emperor has no feelings for SkekVar)  
> Emperor is being a dick but SkekVar has mellowed a little = pre-darkening but a little later (Emperor is fond of SkekVar)  
> Emperor has depression and SkekVar is still a good good boy but gets occasionally treated like shit = Pre-Darkening (Emperor has big feelings for SkekVar and is terrified/resents him for it/in denial)  
> Emperor has depression and is suffering from Darkening, SkekVar is completely in love with him and kind of knows the Emperor is in love with him too = Post-Darkening, pre-Essence. (Emperor is still in denial but wants to love SkekVar because he wants to feel safe, but he's too scared to be emotionally vulnerable)

"I've been thinking, sire,"  
"Really, General?"  
SkekVar frowns at his Emperor's mocking jest but soldiers on,  
"Yes, sire, about the split."  
The Emperor cannot see his face. They are lying in the dark, awake. The Emperor has been unable to sleep and SkekVar, ever loyal, has remained awake with him in solidarity.  
"I've been thinking, sire, that it must have been destiny."  
The bed creaks as the Emperor turns slightly towards him,  
"Oh?"  
"Yes, sire. I've been thinking that if we had never split we would have never met. I feel it is so powerful, sire, my need to serve you. It is my purpose. I would do nothing else, even if I could. It fulfils me, sire. I feel it is my destiny. And I couldn't have served you, I wouldn't have even known I was supposed to if we hadn't have split."  
There is silence.  
SkekSo feels he should say something but he finds himself unable to think of anything that feels suitable as a response.  
"Are you awake, sire?"  
He doesn't answer him.  
SkekVar snorts, half disappointed, half accepting,  
"Sleep well, sire." and rolls over and falls asleep.

SkekSo lies awake in the darkness. Stares at the ceiling. SkekVar snoring and snorting softly beside him. The bed feels like a desert, SkekVar's back an impenetrable barrier the Emperor himself has built between them. His bony, knobbled fingers knot in the bedsheets. His eyes go dry from lack of blinking. He will not sleep for he fears tonight he will dream. He cannot sleep because he knows that his dreams will only hurt him. SkekVar seems to him a superman, able to take from such awful suffering a positive thought. How can this be destiny? This constant torturous dread of Death? He would not give up his existence for anything, would not return to the prison of guilt and misery that the Urru call 'Urskek', and yet his existence itself is suffering.

He turns his head. He can vaguely see, in the purple blushed darkness, the great hunch of SkekVar's back and arched neck. His little arms tucked against his back, fists clenched as though to fight. A strange feeling passes over SkekSo, one he is not used to. Gratitude perhaps might be what it is called. It occurs to him that maybe he can comprehend a little of what SkekVar feels. He rolls over on his side and tucks himself against the General's back, wraps his arms around his soft, prodigious waist. The General sighs in his sleep, ribs rising and falling, and the Emperor closes his eyes and lets himself fall into the warmth of SkekVar's body and pretends that he is asleep.


	11. Bad People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to me that you don't forget that the Emperor is a literal trash fire and that SkekVar deserves better. Don't find you a man like the Emperor, you deserve better too

“You’re an imbecile.” The Emperor says, lounging out on his bed, goblet of wine in his hand. SkekVar pauses, robe hanging around his neck and blinks stupidly at him,  
“Do you know why I tell you what I tell you, General?”  
He smirks, doesn’t wait for SkekVar to try and answer,  
“It’s because you’re too stupid to be dangerous. Your little walnut brain is unable to even conceive of a scheme that might prove harmful to me. You’re lacking in any true ambition beyond getting yourself into a better position to punch something.”  
SkekVar stares at him in silence. Hands clenched at his sides.  
“Am I wrong, General?”  
SkekVar opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again and says roughly,  
“I have no interest in being Emperor, sire.”  
The Emperor scoffs,  
“Of course you don’t. You could never be Emperor, General. Chamberlain will be Emperor before you are!”   
He throws his head back and laughs.   
SkekVar, impotent SkekVar, trembles but doesn’t speak.   
“Put your robes on,” The Emperor says with a wave of his hand, “and see yourself out.”  
SkekVar shoves his arms through the armholes and throws his breastplate on, turns and walks out. The Emperor watches him go out of the corner of his hooded eye. Takes a sip from his goblet. Stares at the wall ahead of him. Says nothing in the silence.


	12. Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Year of the Rat

The Emperor is leaving the throne room when he stops in the dark, almost empty corridor. In the middle of the corridor, there are two rats fucking. He stops and stares at them. They stop and stare at him. Twin pairs of beady black eyes twinkling. He remains still and they decide he is far enough away to continue. The Emperor watches them. The male bites down on the back of the female's neck, their pink worm tails twisting together. They squeak and squeal and screech, their bodies twitching, and then finally they separate and disappear into a hole in the stone wall. The Emperor blinks. He walks to the spot they had occupied, lifts his foot and stamps on it. Once. Twice. Twists his foot back and forth. Then he looks at the hole. He will have to get Chamberlain on that. That five-second fuck will breed a thousand more rats.   
Yes, Chamberlain.   
A rat to catch rats.  
He chuckles. Shakes his head.   
Five hundred years in the castle and he'd never seen a rat fuck.  
Life can still surprise you.


	13. Rats Reprise

SkekVar is leaving the Chamber of the Crystal when he pauses and steps back into the darkness. It takes him a moment to know why he has become hyperaware. There, in the darkness, two figures are moving. He strains his eyes, squinting down the corridor, peering into the shadows. He cannot tell who they are, they are too close together to discern any specific traits. He must rely on his other senses. He breathes in deeply (struggling to not snort) and separates the scents. Yes. Chamberlain. And? SkekUng, the Conqueror. He narrows his eyes. Another smell. They are fucking. He wrinkles his beak. Disgusting. Foul. SkekUng is no friend of his but he'd hoped for better from him. A fellow warrior lowering himself in such a fashion is shameful.

Sticking your dicks in Chamberlain is no better than sticking your dicks in a crawly.

He stays in the darkness and waits. They do not know he is there and he does not wish to give himself away. SkekUng makes such a glorified show of hating Chamberlain that this knowledge can only be useful. SkekVar is no politician but any weapon against Chamberlain is worth having.  
So he waits, listens and watches the two shadows rock against the wall in the darkness. Finally, there is a quiet noise and they separate. They hunch together a moment, SkekUng's voice raises and then they separate, scurrying away down the dark, tunnel-like corridors. SkekVar finally allows himself to snort. He waddles to the spot where they had fucked and looks at it. At least they were clean. He wrinkles his beak, squints his eyes. Five hundred years in the castle and he'd never thought he'd see SkekUng fuck SkekSil.  
Life is full of surprises.


	14. The Darkness Hides

As a reward for his loyalty, the Emperor is willing to allow SkekVar a place in his bed.  
If the Emperor wakes in the night shaking, his vision consumed by darkness, his body chilled through to the bone. Drowning in the clawing, aching pain of guilt and regret and a terror of death. Dreaded Death. That faceless spectre that peers at him from the purpled darkness, from the bruised light of the Crystal of Truth. (What is death but the ultimate Truth? And one that must be denied at all costs.) If he shudders and cries out and fears the wetness of his cheeks is blood, and if the only thing that comforts him in these times is the solid strength, the warmth of SkekVar's body as he rolls over and embraces him. Holds his wrists and crushes him against his torso and whispers to him that he is safe and that he is not alone.  
"I am here, sire, I will protect you."  
And if all of these things occur, if he clings to SkekVar in the darkness and holds onto him for dear life as though he were a solitary rock in a great raging ocean, it is only by coincidence and not at all by design. He does not need SkekVar, does not look to him for anything beyond entertainment. Anything SkekVar gets from him is a reward for his service.   
And if these things occur they go unacknowledged. SkekVar's eyes blinded by the darkness, his ears surely muffled against the Emperor's sobs by sleep. And if these things occur they are left in the night, in the darkness where they belong, and are never brought into the day. Never spoken of.   
No.   
Never spoken of.  
The darkness hides. The darkness deceives.

The General has done well. Tonight the Emperor will let him sleep in his bed.


	15. Games

"Urgh, SkekSil-" SkekUng moans and SkekSil turns around and bites him,  
"No!" He screeches, "Emperor!"  
SkekUng snarls, drool pouring down over SkekSil's back, neck and shoulders,  
"Shut up! Stupid fantasy!"  
SkekSil bares his teeth at him, little sharp teeth like a rat's,  
"If you want this, hmmm," he clenches around SkekUng's cocks and the Conqueror groans, "then you will call me Emperor."  
SkekUng digs his claws into SkekSil's fat hips, drags his spit-slimy tongue up the back of his neck and huffs against his hair,  
"Emperor." He purrs. Chamberlain hums with pleasure,  
"Good, hmmm?" He coos, "Not hard, hmmm?"  
"Very hard." SkekUng purrs as he begins to rock his hips.  
He laughs, low and rough and dirty and Chamberlain sits back on him, bouncing.  
SkekSil is a silent fuck, but with his hand squeezing tight around the Chamberlain's throat SkekUng can feel his beating pulse.   
"Feels good to service your Emperor, hmmm?" SkekSil purrs, reaching back to caress SkekUng's hairy cheek. The Conqueror sighs and moans in his ear. He is not a quiet fuck. He bites down on Chamberlain's neck, and his spit blends with the blood.   
"Worship your Emperor, serve your Emperor." Chamberlain sighs,  
"Yes, yes."  
"Pleasure your Emperor, hmmm."  
"Yes. Yes!"  
"You obey your Emperor hmmm. Who is your Emperor?"  
"SkekSil!" He roars, coming.   
Chamberlain purrs, drags his talons through SkekUng's hair,  
"Good boy," he purrs, "hmmm, good boy."  
SkekUng groans and his groan melds into a growl,  
"Why do I always come first?"  
Chamberlain shrugs, smiles, tilts his head sweetly,  
"Your Emperor is generous."


	16. The Spy Who Loved Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James Bond theme playing

The Skeksis do not tend to allow the Castle Guard to take posts around their bedrooms. This might lead to unwanted questions or risk ruining their mystique. SkekVar realises now, as he stares at the rearing, hissing locksnake that this is a huge oversight in security. If he is able to sneak along to Chamberlain's bedroom unseen then Chamberlain could easily sneak along to his. He scratches his knobbled chin. Of course, clever Chamberlain realised this first. Hence the locksnake curled around his door handle. 

SkekVar has been staring at it for over a minute. Chamberlain has some trick to get around these things but he hasn't figured out what it is and he has to solve the problem soon or Chamberlain might catch him. If he kills the locksnake Chamberlain will know someone has been in his room, if he doesn't kill the locksnake he can't get in. Maybe if he hit it just a little bit he could knock it out? SkekVar raises one hand, palm open-  
Whack!  
The locksnake collapses, uncurls, slides off of the handle, clumps to the floor.   
SkekVar snorts and grimaces. He bends over and picks it up, daintily between finger and thumb.   
It's definitely dead.  
He snorts again and squints around nervously.   
Well, he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.  
He shoves the Emperor's master key (that he had privately borrowed. The Emperor will appreciate it when SkekVar finds out something useful) into the bronze lock and turns it, wincing in expectation of a booby trap. The heavy wooden door swings open. He enters quickly, closing it behind him and shoves the dead locksnake into a pocket in the fold of his robe. 

Chamberlain's room is oddly reminiscent of the Emperor's. Laid out in an extremely similar fashion and with an almost identical colour palette, if a little more muted. Practical might be the word. Soulless.   
SkekVar peers around. A double bed, an en suite, a large writing desk, a cabinet, a wardrobe, two bedside tables, a large painting, a drinks table and chairs.   
Where to look? Where to look? Where would Chamberlain keep his secrets?   
He instinctively, and unimaginatively, heads for the writing desk opening the top drawer. Paperwork, boring administrative paperwork. He rifles through it messily. Letters. Yellowed parchment letters hidden under the admin. He drags them out and opens them. Squinting, he tries to read them.   
For SkekVar words are unruly soldiers, taking formation and then mixing themselves around, switching places until he can't keep track of them. But with a lot of concentration and a deeply furrowed brow he is able to descramble the curling black scrawl. When he does he has to stifle a laugh. They are, of all things, love letters. Written by SkekUng while he has been away overseas. Scrawling, sentimental, embarrassing things. They are thoroughly sickening and SkekVar is shocked at the thought of attributing them to the loud and standoffish Conquerer. The things these letters say about Chamberlain are things he never even thought possible to say about Chamberlain. Oh yes, the Emperor would enjoy these. Humiliating to Chamberlain-  
-Who had left them in the top draw of his writing desk barely hidden under some papers.  
SkekVar blinks, drops them back in the drawer and slams it closed.  
Useless!  
They were meant to be found!  
Chamberlain must have no emotional attachment to them at all. SkekVar shakes his head and snorts. Chamberlain really thought he would be so stupid to fall for that.   
Well, he had gone straight to the top drawer of the writing desk…  
He goes to the painting and lifts it off of the wall.  
Nothing.  
The cabinet with its bronze faced clock and its red and green leather bound books. He searches them all, opening and shaking them.  
Nothing.  
The bedside tables. Somethings that he wishes he had never seen but nothing of use.  
He rifles through the en suite. Nothing.  
The wardrobe. Nothing  
Under the drinks cabinet nothing  
Under the chairs nothing  
In the drinks cabinet nothing  
In the drinks! Nothing!  
Under the bed- a leather case  
In the case?  
Nothing!  
He almost roars with frustration.  
Where does Chamberlain keep his secrets!  
He must have secrets! He must have a weakness! Something to extort? Something to hold as a bargaining chip, as protection for the Emperor's life. There must be someone or something that Chamberlain cares for?   
Some chink in his hard, cold heart?  
He spins around and around in a circle, looking for some kind of reveal.  
Nothing.  
He has made a mess of Chamberlain's room. Ransacked it. It will be obvious he has been here and he will get in trouble.  
He will deny it.  
The Emperor will punish him privately and Chamberlain will go unsatisfied, but he could perceive this as an all-out statement of political war and SkekVar does not want to incite that level of conflict. He grimaces nervously, his tail tapping the floor. This was stupid. So stupid. He must return the Emperor's key before he notices it missing.  
He hurries to the door, peers out. The corridor appears empty.   
He exits, locks the door, steps away.   
The locksnake!   
Which pocket did he put it in? He rifles through them until he finds it. Lifts it out. Shakes it. Floppy. Definitely dead. He grimaces again. Scratches his chin nervously. Then he drapes it around the door handle. It slides off. He picks it up, drapes it over the door handle. It slides off. He curses, picks it up and wraps it round the door handle and ties a knot in it.  
Then he steps back, hands on his hips, to assess his handiwork.  
Oh no no. Chamberlain is not going to fall for this at all! Nevermind! What is done is done.   
He leaves the snake, turns right and practically runs away down the corridor. 

From the left, from within a shadowed recess, Chamberlain comes creeping. Bobbing down the corridor, a smile on his face. He watches SkekVar's shadow slip away across the wall and then he looks down at the locksnake, his eyes creased with amusement. He takes out a knife, cuts through the knot and drops the locksnake into his beak, chewing it up. Hums to himself thoughtfully, opens the bedroom door and grimaces at the sight.  
How annoying. SkekVar could have at least tried to tidy it up.


	17. SkekVar has his Ambitions

SkekVar might have been rejected by the Emperor but he knew in his heart of hearts that this set back was, in reality, another step towards victory. Of course, he'd had to sob, and drink, and eat before he had settled into that mindset but all things ran their course. 

SkekVar had found in his great war against Thinking that he struggled less when he approached a problem as though it were a battle.   
His courtship of the Emperor was a siege: a long, drawn-out, painful, often bloody conflict with an enormous amount of casualties on either side. A siege didn’t rely on a series of quick battlefield conflicts, it was a slow process of starvation and suffering. Cutting off the enemy’s supply lines, depriving them of their resources, depriving them of their hope.

He knew, from experience, that an animal, or an enemy, always lashed out most violently when weakened. Every violent rejection by the Emperor, every slash of his claws, snap of his beak, every hateful word spit by his tongue, was a show of vulnerability. A sign that SkekVar was gaining ground. As long as he remained consistent, resilient against the Emperor's attacks, strong of heart and sure of his dream, he would be victorious. 

Currently, when he struck at the Emperor he was only wounding him, but with each wound, each prick of the great spear SkekVar had forged from his Love (as solid and strong as his passion) the Emperor weakened in his resolve. Eventually, SkekVar would pierce his heart and the Emperor would be his.

Yes, he had to be strong. He had to be brave. He had made himself the Emperor's chief servant, trained himself body and mind to fulfil the Emperor's needs. To bend to his every desire, to be a slave to his whim. To be a slave to his passions. Although over the trine, the Emperor had often rejected him, spurned him, insulted him, he had always returned to him. Returned to his faithful servant. SkekVar had worked hard to make himself irreplaceable. 

SkekVar had surrendered to the Emperor and one day the Emperor would surrender to him and he would have what he wished. He would sleep in the Emperor's bed as he wished, he would eat with the Emperor as he wished, he would make love to the Emperor as he wished, he would be his unquestioned companion and no one, especially not Chamberlain, would be able to replace him.   
Yes.   
He would have the Emperor's respect, the Emperor's appreciation, and most of all the Emperor's Love. Just as the Emperor had his respect, his adoration, and his Love. Unquestioningly. All he had to do was have faith. In time the Emperor would Love him. All he had to do was wait and he knew that he would win out. The battle would be long and hard but they had all of eternity to wage it. He would keep on striking until he hit his mark. 

Yes, he knew would find the Emperor's heart in the end, he had just not found it yet.


	18. Consequences

The Emperor has him squatting, back pressed against the wall, arms chained over his head. He's gagged and collared. A leather scourge brushes over SkekVar's pecs, teasing him in preparation for the whipping to come.  
"I'm disappointed in you, General."  
The Emperor says, looking down on him. His grey hooded eyes set on SkekVar's painful cocks that are being crushed by the metal cock and ball clamp.  
"Breaking into Chamberlain's room. What were you doing in there really, General? Masturbating to thoughts of SkekSil in bed?"  
SkekVar tries to protest around his gag and the Emperor strikes him quick and hard with the whip then reaches down and yanks on the chains that link together the metal-toothed clips he has clamped on all eight of SkekVar's nipples. SkekVar groans in pain and the Emperor lashes his sore nipples.  
"Did I give you permission to respond?"  
SkekVar hangs his head. Shakes it weakly.  
"Then stay silent."   
The Emperor lifts his foot, presses the pad of his big toe to the head of one of SkekVar's leaking cocks and swirls it around in a circle, smearing the precum. SkekVar trembles but makes no sound. The Emperor places his foot back to the floor.  
"Worst of all, General, is that you stole from me. It is my master key. Only I maintain the right to enter any Skeksis bedchamber as I please."   
SkekVar remains silent,  
"You deserve your punishment, General, and I am going to give it to you. Are you ready?"  
SkekVar nods.  
"Good."  
He strikes him with the scourge across the shoulders, the chest, the ribs, the arms repeatedly. Then, when his skin is red and raw, the Emperor takes up his riding crop and bruises him over his legs. By the time he is done SkekVar is trembling with exhaustion. The sweat beading on his grey-green skin.   
The Emperor admires him. He is still hard, leaking heavily. SkekSo smirks, drops the head of the crop down and traces it up the underside of one of SkekVar's heavy, throbbing cocks. SkekVar shudders, spreads his knees unconsciously.   
"I can't let you cum, can I General?" The Emperor says, voice light, amused, "It would hardly be a punishment if you enjoyed it."  
He squats and tips SkekVar's face up to look at him,   
"Don't break eye contact." he purrs and he reaches down and yanks hard on SkekVar's cocks.   
"You can make as much noise as you want."   
He slaps the heads and SkekVar yells around his gag.   
The Emperor flicks them, slaps them, pulls on them hard, cranks the clamp tighter, pinches the heads, then strokes them, and all the while SkekVar howls and trembles and finally pants, thrusting into his hands.  
The Emperor chuckles,  
"Look at you. I think you're growing to like your punishments aren't you? How are you going to learn?"  
He strokes him, squeezes him, pumping his hands up and down. SkekVar pants, groans, his eyelids flutter closed. He's drooling over himself. He's leaking heavily, twitching in the Emperor's hands,  
"Do you want to cum?"  
SkekVar nods eagerly.  
The Emperor lets him go. Stands up and backs away. SkekVar whines pitifully, eyes springing open.  
The Emperor places his hands in his hips and then yawns loudly,  
"You will remain there, General. I am going to bed. In the morning, if I've slept well, perhaps I shall decide that your punishment is over."  
SkekVar stares up at him, blinking, stunned mute.  
"Of course," the Emperor says, " I almost forgot."  
He unties the gag and replaces it with a leather strap with a large hole in the middle.  
"There, now you may breath comfortably."  
He walks round to his bed and climbs into it, settling himself he rings the bell to summon the Podling slaves to put out the lights. All the while SkekVar stares at him in bemused, disbelieving silence.

When the Podlings enter SkekVar thrashes furiously in protest. The Emperor leaps up and snarls at him and he falls silent.  
"Hurry up slaves!" The Emperor snaps, and they re-enter casting fearful and disturbed glances at SkekVar.  
It is awful. Humiliating. He is still hard, can't get soft while the clamp is on him. He's covered in sweat and precum. Gagged. Chained like an animal. The hideous Podling keep looking at him as they go about their work. No doubt they will tell all the other slaves about this. SkekVar almost wants to cry. How can he deserve this?  
He glances to the Emperor.  
The Emperor is smiling.  
Looking right at him, dead in the eye, and smiling. A smug, self-satisfied smile.   
He is taking pleasure in SkekVar's humiliation, in his pain. No doubt beneath the heavy bedsheets he is hard.   
The Podling exit leaving them in darkness. 

In the darkness, everything is amplified. The clank of the chains, the heavy wet sound of SkekVar's breathing. The aching pain in his muscles as his arms are held up unnaturally and he is forced to squat.   
"You know," the Emperor says from somewhere distant and unplaceable in the dark, "it seems unfair that I shouldn't get to cum. I'm not being punished, am I, General?"  
The bedsheets rustle. There's a noise. The Emperor sighs. SkekVar shudders.  
In the darkness, everything is amplified. The musky scent of the Emperor's sex, the wet sound of his hand sliding around his members, the soft panting of his breath. The aching and trembling of SkekVar's thighs, the throbbing pain of his hard and desperate cocks. His pitiful whimpers. So desperate. So desperate. To touch, to lick, to do anything but be forced to sit and just listen. The Emperor is spilling his seed and SkekVar is being deprived of it. He cries out pitifully as the Emperor cums. Disappointed.   
"I know," General," the Emperor coos, "but I'll be sure to feed you later. Now now, try to get some sleep," SkekVar can hear the rasp of the Emperor's tongue as he licks his own cum from his fingers, "you're going to need your strength tomorrow."

The morning comes too slowly for SkekVar. He spends the endless night in agony, his thigh muscles stiffening, his arms straining to the point that they feel they could tear. He weeps in the night, but quietly. Slowly the pains of his body blend into one sole all-consuming ache.  
After a time his mind clears. He begins to meditate. Meditates on the Emperor, wheezing in the darkness. On his love for him, a love that is deep and strong and flows through him like a powerful river. He imagines himself swimming in it. Let's himself sink. It is peace. Even the aching washes over him, the tears on his cheeks are the water. His existence simplifies. In love is peace.   
When the Emperor's hand cups his jaw he realises it is morning. Opens his eyes. Looks up into his master's merciful face,  
"Are you ready for the last of your punishment, General?" The Emperor says, his voice soft.  
SkekVar nods mutely, and when the Emperor's hand slides up to cup his cheek ridge he tilts his head and nuzzles into his master's palm and then presses his face to his stomach. The Emperor slides his hand round into his hair and holds him against him cooing softly to him,  
"I think you are repentant."  
SkekVar nuzzles his stomach murmuring softly.  
"Yes, I think you are repentant." The Emperor whispers, "You are a good boy. My good boy."  
He nudges SkekVar's head away and hoists up his robe,  
"Come, come, make it up to me."  
and releases his hard cocks from his underwear. SkekVar sighs, licks up his lengths, curling his tongue around them and then, gazing into his master's eyes, takes them into his mouth. The Emperor groans, rests his hand on the back of SkekVar's head as his General sucks and licks him. Worshipping his cocks.   
"Yes, yes," the Emperor whispers, "Well done. Well done, good boy. My good soldier. My loyal General."  
SkekVar closes his eyes as he worships his Emperor. Absorbs himself in his taste, his smell, his texture. The slickness and heat of his lengths, their weight, their smell. He can feel the Emperor's pulse throbbing against his tongue. They are in rhythm, their hearts beating together. The Emperor's claws scratch through his hair, his cocks twitch and jump. The Emperor starts fucking his face, and then he blesses SkekVar. Coming in his mouth and throat. SkekVar sucks and licks him, cleaning him, drinking every drop he can draw from him.

The Emperor's legs quiver. He blinks then drags SkekVar's head back by the hair and hooks his knee over SkekVar's shoulder presenting his hole,  
"Fuck." He rasps and SkekVar penetrates him with his tongue. Fucking his hole.  
The Emperor groans, thrusting down onto his General's muscular, wet tongue. He can't bear to look at SkekVar's face. His eyes are too hot, too warm and deep. He would drown in them. He is not strong enough and it frightens him, so he tips his head back and howls as he orgasms again. SkekVar licks him clean once more. Savouring him. The Emperor draws back, shivering,  
"Well done, General. You have earned my forgiveness."   
He unchains him, removes the clips from his nipples and the gag from his mouth. Then leaves him to climb back onto the bed, his legs spread,  
"Come." He calls, crooking a finger to him.  
SkekVar groans,  
"I cannot walk, sire."  
"Then crawl."  
SkekVar groans again, his cocks heavy with both the clamp and painful desire. He crawls on his hands and knees, legs too cramped to stand, and drags himself up onto the bed.   
"Come, come." The Emperor encourages him until he is kneeling between his knees.   
The Emperor leans forward and releases and removes the cock clamp. SkekVar throws his head back and yells his relief. It is painful, so painful. The Emperor presses his palm to his back urging him and SkekVar climbs on top of him, lines himself up and penetrates him. He comes. He cannot even perform one thrust. The simple act of penetrating his master tips him over the edge and he roars, eyes rolling back in his head. The Emperor pets his hair, rubs his back, coos,  
"Good boy, well done."   
as SkekVar trembles and spends himself inside of him. He collapses. His heavy body a dead weight.   
"Well done." The Emperor purrs, scratching his claws through his hair, caressing his tear-stained face, "You are forgiven, General. My loyal General. Rest now. You've earned it."


	19. SkekEkt's Beauty Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Hunnies,  
> And welcome to SkekEkt's makeup hour! Ugly as sin? I can make you beautiful! You don't believe it? Very few would! Look at you, hunny! Yuck! But I'm magic, just watch me work!

"What are you doing in here?" SkekVar snorts,  
SkekEkt leaps up, his hair and ruffles bouncing. He screeches with delight, throwing his hands in the air,   
"Waiting for you, silly! Come and sit down!"   
SkekVar allows himself to be manhandled across his own bedroom and sat down in front of the dressing table. SkekEkt bustles around him gathering up and picking out his equipment. It’s a hideous mess of contraptions and devices that are completely alien to SkekVar and to his practical, weapon and trophy filled, bedroom. There are brushes with a great variety of heads, poking sticks, prongs, twisters, twizzlers, twingers, prodders and prickers, and all manner of tubs and tubes and dishes. Behind them, perched on the end of SkekVar's bed (little legs swinging) SkekAyuk watches them both with a placid, gentle smile of amusement.   
"Do you like the mirror I brought you?" SkekEkt crows, gesturing to the gold monstrosity propped up on the table, "You can't keep it, it's mine. It's so big! But you can borrow it, while I do your makeup."  
"Make-up?" SkekVar grunts,  
"Yes! You agreed! Unfurrow that brow, you're going to get horrible creases. Do you want horrible creases?"  
SkekVar frowns harder as he thinks,  
"No."  
"Then stop it!" SkekEkt wails, "Stop! Stop!"  
Then Ornamentalist sighs, heaving his shoulders, wiping his eyes with a frilly clothe,  
"Oh, look at you," he says, "so helpless."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I'm going to make you look beautiful."   
SkekVar eyes the menagerie of brushes and powder pallets laid out in front of him with suspicion. SkekEkt claps him on the shoulders,  
"But first,” he squawks, “you'll need to take off that helmet!"  
"No!" SkekVar roars, standing and bumping the chair back against SkekEkt's legs,  
"Careful! You're on my hem!"  
"My helmet stays on!"  
SkekEkt looks at him. Considers him with sad eyes, then places both hands on SkekVar's chest,  
"You don't need any secrets here."  
SkekVar gapes at him, brow scrunched,  
"Not everyone can have beautiful luscious locks like me," SkekEkt continues, "I'm just blessed. It's okay if you're lacking in the upstairs department. That's what I'm for. Do you know why makeup and fashion are so important?"  
"Did you just say I'm bald?"  
"Beauty and fashion control how we look on the outside so we can control how we feel on the inside." He pats SkekVar's chest, "Take off your helmet."   
SkekVar snorts, wrinkles his nose. Then he takes off his helmet,  
"I used to have nice hair." He sighs,  
"I know." SkekEkt says, genuinely sympathetic, "sit down."  
SkekVar sits down, slumps in the seat, stares at the tabletop.  
"Look in the mirror," SkekEkt says, hands on his shoulders, "go on."  
SkekVar looks.  
He's so bald.   
Bald and old.  
Fat and toothless.   
It's awful.  
He sighs heavily.  
"Oh, honey," SkekEkt says, "We all feel like that sometimes. Even me! Can you imagine!" He throws his head back and laughs, "And I'm beautiful! But we're going to make you feel good! Let me work my magic."  
SkekVar doesn't understand how it's magic, but he also doesn't understand how the make-up works so maybe it is magic. It looks more like SkekTek's science to him: mixing various powders and creams together. SkekEkt keeps brushing and dabbing and wiping things on SkekVar's face, and he scrunches up and tries to dodge away but SkekEkt gets so irate with him he submits and stays still. It's not like he's not well-practised at submitting to the whims of domineering tyrants.

When SkekEkt is done he pulls away with a flourish and a  
"Tadaa!"  
SkekVar blinks at himself,  
"Beautiful!" SkekEkt crows, "Come SkekAyuk, look-look!"  
SkekAyuk hops off the bed and waddles over,  
"I'm impressed, that was a tough canvass."  
“I told you I’m a miracle worker!”  
“Mmm, I won’t doubt again.”  
SkekVar glowers at him in the mirror but he can't stay mad, not when he keeps catching sight of himself. He touches his own face in awe,  
"How…" he says.   
SkekEkt throws his arms out,  
"Talent! Skill! A sprinkling of magic! I told you! I can make anyone beautiful!"  
SkekVar pets his own face,  
"Don't touch!" SkekEkt snaps, "Careful, you brute, you'll rub it all off."

SkekEkt sends him away with a hop in his step. He, of course, goes straight to the Emperor. The Emperor blinks at him as he comes striding into the throne room,  
“What have you got on your face?” He rasps.  
SkekVar baulks,  
“Sire?”  
“What have you done to your face?” he says, sounding more amused,  
“Make-up, sire. SkekEkt-”  
“You let SkekEkt do that to your face? Come here, General.”  
The Emperor beckons too him with crooked fingers and SkekVar comes meekly to stand before him, all confidence lost.   
“Look at you,” the Emperor chides, “wipe that mess off.”  
SkekVar rubs at his face with his sleeves,  
“Why did you let SkekEkt do that to you, General.”  
“I thought- I agreed,” he pauses, he feels stupid now saying out loud, “I thought it made me beautiful, sire.”  
The Emperor raises his brow at him,  
“Beautiful, General?”  
“Yes, sire. For you.”  
“General,” The Emperor says, “If I wanted to look at a trim, beautiful, stylish Skeksis when I fucked I would look in a mirror.”  
SkekVar cows,  
“Forgive, sire.”  
“There is nothing to forgive.” The Emperor purrs, “Comes closer. Unstrap your breastplate.”  
SkekVar unstraps and lowers his metal breastplate to the floor and steps up into the Emperor’s reach,  
“Do you know what I like, General?” the Emperor purrs.  
He slaps his hands on SkekVar's pecs, squeezes them, kneads them,  
“This.” He purrs,  
“A chest, sire?”  
SkekSo purses his beak and resists rolling his eyes,  
“Flex your biceps for me.”  
SkekVar does and the Emperor squeezes his arms,  
“Muscle, General. Muscle!”  
SkekVar grins,  
“And this!” the Emperor says, sliding his hands down SkekVar’s torso to squeeze his stomach, and then slides his hands lower, “And this…” he purrs.  
SkekVar’s tail thumps the floor,  
“Thank you, sire.” He pants,  
“No, General,” he purrs, squeezing, “Thank you.” and he releases him and sits back in his throne, “Now, you’re dismissed.”  
SkekVar blinks at him,  
“Sire?” he is rock hard under his robes.  
The Emperor waves a hand at him,  
“Dismissed, General. And wash the rest of that rubbish off your face before the Gelfling see you. You’ll lose their respect.”  
SkekVar blinks again. Then he bows, nervously, deeply.   
“Of course, sire.” He says and he backs out of the room.   
The moment he’s in the corridor he makes for his bedroom. Yes, he’ll wash his face but before that, there are three far more pressing issues he needs to deal with.


	20. Truth pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of wholesome chapter followed by a cursed chapter. That's the way this fic rolls.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Rape/Non-Con

SkekZok’s bedroom is as lavish and highly ornamented as he is. And gold. Very gold. SkekVar finds it offensive to his eyes. Something else he finds offensive to his eyes is what SkekZok is currently doing to an unconscious Gelfling. SkekVar doesn’t understand the Ritual Master’s fetishes, he must admit, but they’re friends so if SkekZok needs someone to watch him he’s willing to sit in the Ritual Master’s extremely comfortable armchair and mull over his own thoughts until his host finishes. That’s what friends do. Or at least that’s what SkekZok has outlined as a part of their friendship. In return, when SkekVar has found himself in the Emperor’s bad books for any extended period, SkekZok has supplied him with the firm hand and soothing voice he has required. And the privacy necessary to stop the Emperor from clubbing both of their heads in for it. SkekZok trembles and makes a noise like a tomb opening, then he throws the Gelfling onto his bed where it lands in a heap. SkekVar wrinkles his nose. Perhaps there’s something about the discarded Gelfling that reminds him of himself. Whatever it is, it makes the Gelfling unpleasant to look at and he turns his head away. The Ritual Master has gone into his en-suite to clean himself up, chuckling to himself. He returns in an exquisite gold lounge robe.  
“Now,” he says, “How would the General care for a drink?”  
SkekVar wrinkles his nose again,  
“I’ll pour it myself.”  
SkekZoke rolls his eyes as he pours them both a drink,  
“I wouldn’t drug a friend, SkekVar.”  
He waddles across the room and holds the glass out. SkekVar stares at it but doesn’t take it. SkekZok bristles,  
“Fine.” he snaps, “Have it your way.” He downs both drinks and then waddles back to get himself a second.  
When he’s poured it, he seats himself in a matching blood red armchair and watches SkekVar as he rises and pours himself a drink. SkekVar pauses,  
“There’s no drugs in this?” he says, lifting the bottle.  
SkekZok hisses at him, eyes narrowed and SkekVar hisses back, flashing him his spines. SkekZok backs down,  
“No!” he barks, “No, SkekVar, I have no intention of drugging you! You are more fun when you consent. It’s how you serve that’s the fun. These Gelfling,” he motions to the lump of meat on the bed, “It’s different. The unconsciousness is part of the game.”  
His wrinkled grey face twists into a sneering smile and he runs his long whip-like tongue over his teeth as he turns to stare at the body on the bed. SkekVar feels sick. He downs his drink and pours himself a second one, then he returns to his seat.  
“The best part,” SkekZok continues, “Is when they wake up. They all of them are so eager to lap up my stories. Every one of them so willing to believe they’ve been part of some vital world-changing ritual. All so eager to believe in the magic!” He laughs, “They’ll explain anything away!”  
SkekVar snorts into his drink. SkekZok sighs then turns to his friend,  
“Now, SkekVar, my good General. What on Thra is on your mind?”  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
“General,” he coos, “You never come to me when you are in the Emperor’s favour, not unless you want to talk. Unless you want a friend. Our friendship is valuable to me. You know that.”  
SkekVar chews on his words, squints his eyes, sighs,  
“I am filled with doubt.” He rasps.  
SkekZok nods solemnly,  
“As we all are sometimes. Do you wish for me to do a reading?”  
No,” SkekVar rumbles, waving a hand, “I don’t believe in all that nonsense.”  
The Ritual Master glowers at him but doesn’t give that statement the dignity of a reply,  
“So, then what do you want?” he says.  
“I don’t know.”  
SkekVar sighs, his great chest heaving,  
“I just want to know something. I feel like I don’t know anything. And not just normal smart Skeksis things, I mean… I feel like I should understand something bigger. The Emperor is so wise, his mind is vast. It touches on things I can’t even imagine. I want to just glimpse whatever it is he’s seeing; whatever it is he knows. I feel recently like something has changed…”  
He snorts, tucks his chin down against his chest,  
“The Emperor… something is changing with him. He has some secret. Not a thought he’s working on that he doesn’t wish to share but… a secret. Something he is hiding. I want to see it, just a little bit, but I don’t know how.”  
SkekZok nods again slowly,  
“I see. You think a Skeksis with more authority might be able to gain some knowledge of this secret.”  
SkekVar shoots him a doubtful glance,  
“No.” he grunts, “If he won’t tell me he won’t tell anyone.”  
SkekZok grimaces,  
“Perhaps that’s true.”  
They both fall silent as the Gelfling on the bed groans. They watch is carefully but it does not wake.  
“I don’t want to be here when it wakes up.” The General says quietly.  
“Yes, yes. Well,” SkekZok says, “I suppose if you don’t want a reading and you don’t want my prying I can only offer one suggestion.”  
SkekVar finishes his drink, grunts,  
“And that is?”  
“The Crystal.” SkekZok replies.  
SkekVar shakes his head enthusiastically,  
“No, no. Never.”  
“Look into the Crystal, General. Keep your question in your mind. The Crystal sees the truth of all things.”  
“No. Never.”  
SkekZok shrugs,  
“Then don’t do it.”  
SkekVar snarls. Look at the Gelfling out of the corner of his eye. He stands, puts his glass back onto the drink’s cabinet.  
“Your company,” SkekZok says, opening his arms but not bothering to rise, “Has been wonderful. My friend, I have appreciated your service.”  
“Don’t ask me to do this anytime soon.” SkekVar grunts as he grabs the door handle, “It makes me feel sick.”  
He leaves.

In his room, SkekZok casts his ice blue eyes over the body of the unconscious Gelfling. He smiles,  
“Ah, my sweet Gelfing,” he croons, “Alone at last.”


	21. Truth pt.2

SkekVar approaches the Chamber of the Crystal filled with terror and pre-emptive guilt. He has not looked into the Crystal for… not since he was young. Very young. Very very young. And he has not wanted to look into the Crystal other than to gain its rejuvenating power. Looking into the Crystal feels like a betrayal of the Emperor. Looking into the Crystal sounds like an invitation to madness.  
His heart is pounding and he is terrified that he might get caught. But get caught doing what? He is not doing anything wrong.

He stops in the purple light of the Crystal. He trembles all over but he must face his fear.   
“Crystal,” he rumbles, “Show me what I want to know.”  
He stares into the Crystal’s pale, humming heart.  
He stares.  
He stares.  
There is nothing.  
He roars in frustration,  
“Crystal! Show me!”  
He furrows his brow, strains his eyes, stares into the Crystal until his eyes ache and water. He clenches his fists at his sides until his talons bite his palms and he bleeds. He almost gives up  
And then the Crystal speaks.  
But it does not answer the question he had thought he was asking. It answers another question. It answers the question in his heart. It answers the question that he most wants answered in the world.   
And its answer horrifies him.  
He screams. Clamps his hands around his head, shakes it furiously and turns tail and storms out. Leaves the castle, heads into the Dark Wood. The Crystal calls after him. It's wailing, sad, lonely tune taunting. Echoing what it had shown him, echoing what it has told him is his future. Is his Truth. 

If this is his Truth SkekVar would rather he had lived in his dream.


	22. A Good Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ordon is a good boy

Ordon prides himself on his work as a soldier. He is a soldier first, a father second, a husband last of all. A fact his wife often draws to his attention. His loyalty, beyond all else, is to his General who he both serves and imitates in life. There is no one more loyal, more stout, more honourable, noble of heart, or hard-working as General SkekVar. That is why, when the General is late to the Castle Guards practice sparring Ordon is concerned. There is nothing General SkekVar likes more than to watch the Gelfling fight. Ordon takes it on himself to track down his Lord.

He heads into the castle, the familiar curved walls, dark like arteries. He asks several of the guards who all tell him the same: the General has been summoned to the speak with the Emperor. Ordon heads on. He comes to the entrance to the Emperor’s throne room and finds it unguarded. This disturbs him. He heads in. If anything, his Lord should know that his soldiers have abandoned their posts. 

His passes through the doorway, into the shadowed lobby, he pauses. From his vantage point, he can see his Lord General. He is a married man and so it takes him only a moment to recognise what his Lord General is doing and why he should not interrupt. He turns back and walks quietly out. Heads to the castle ground to watch over the sparring. As he should have done. All along. 

The Lord General arrives around twenty minutes later. He approaches across the green, his rolling gait casting sun glints off his armour, and stops at the edge of the dirt sparring ground. The General bunches his hands into fists and rests them on his hips. Ordon does not acknowledge him except to bow his head respectfully.  
“How are they looking, Ordon.”  
“Well, Lord.” Ordon replies.  
The General looks down at him, out of the corner of his eye. He is smiling, ever so slightly,   
“And how am I looking, Ordon.”  
Ordon draws together his thick dark brows,  
“My Lord?”  
The General looks irritated, but he suppresses it,  
“That’s how it’s going to be is it?”  
Ordon turns to him, bows deeply,  
“Forgive me, Lord,” he says, “but I don’t understand your question.”  
“Stand up and look at me.” The General rumbles.  
Ordon does as he is commanded. The General squints down at him, eye searching. He snorts.  
“Walk with me.”  
Ordon obeys. They walk together away from the sparring Gelfling and into the shadow of the castle. Away from the beating heat of the sun.  
The General stands over him, shadowing him further,  
“I know you saw, Ordon. Poking your nose where it shouldn’t be.”  
Ordon bows again,  
“Forgive me, Lord. I did not mean to see.”  
“And you think less of me, Ordon.” The General smirks.  
Ordon looks up at him, eyes wide,  
“No, General!”  
The General quirks one ridged brow,  
“No?”  
“No.”  
“Even after you saw me servicing the Emperor like that. On my knees.”  
Ordon flushes, but remains stern,  
“No, Lord. I admire your dedication and loyalty to the Emperor, it’s just…”   
His fists clench at his sides.  
The General frowns, eyes narrowed,  
“It’s just what? Spit it out!”  
“It’s just, Lord… I don’t know how to say it. I do not respect you less for what I saw, I just want to make sure, forgive me General but, I just want to make sure that you were doing it because you wanted to and not because you felt you had no choice.”  
His Lord stares at him in silence. And then he throws back his scaly head and bellows with laughter. Ordon flushes with humiliation, frowning, until the General slaps him heartily on the shoulder.  
“Oh, Ordon,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye, “You’re a good soldier. Come along. Back to training.”  
They cross back over the sunny green in companionable silence. But a few steps from the training field the General stops Ordon with a firm hand on his shoulder,  
“But mind, Ordon,” he rumbles, “You keep what you saw to yourself.”  
Ordon nods firmly,   
“Of course, sire.”  
“Good.” The General snorts, “Now get out there and show these wet weaklings how a soldier fights.”


	23. Truth Concluded

It's not often that Ordon gets the honour of spending time alone with the Lord General. The Lords, he's noticed, are a quiet and internal people. Preferring to spend their time in deep thought or high-minded conversation amongst their own kind. No doubt the things they discuss are beyond the understanding of any mere Gelfling. That is why Ordon cannot understand what his Lord General could want from him. He muses on this question as they wander, seemingly aimlessly, through the Dark Wood. 

It is a beautiful wood and a beautiful walk, even if the woods reputation brings an element of tension. They are close enough to the wood’s edge that the sunlight still dapples the trees and forest floor, turning the almost black leaves an emerald green. There are crawlies here, and walkies, and flying things and all manner of creatures without even names that buzz and squawk and screech. The General pays these beasts little mind, his brow furrowed and his eyes set firmly in some unseen middle distance. It is clear that he is disturbed but Ordon does not pry. It is not his place, and the concerns of the Lords are surely above him.

Eventually, they come to a small clearing and the General stops, a mild look of surprise passing over his face, and motions to a fallen tree with a snort,  
"We'll sit here."  
Ordon obeys his command and seats himself on the dry, dead bark beside his Lord.  
They sit in silence. The General hunched over, elbows propped on his knees, his face grim, and Ordon upright and alert and austere as ever. 

A flying creature with wings like purple stained glass, or shards of gemstone, flits into the clearing and alights on the drooping head of a flower. The General's eyes focus and he stares at it,  
"I have looked into the Crystal."  
He says, and he says it so quietly Ordon must resist asking him to repeat himself. It is clear from the tension in his Lord's body that he must just listen and not speak. It is a tension so fragile, like the film over the surface of water, that he must stay still and silent for fear of breaking it.  
"The Crystal shows us visions of the truth, Ordon, and visions of the future. I looked into the Crystal and asked it a question. It gave me an answer." He snorts, "A bad answer."  
The General looks at him from the corner of one fierce eye,  
"You said you still respected me," he rumbles, "even after you saw me degrade myself in service to the Emperor."  
"Yes, Lord."  
"Why?" He grunts.  
Ordon looks down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap and thinks very carefully,  
"It is your passion, Lord, your true and honest belief in the meaningful nature of service that inspires me. That has guided me on my path in life. Manifesting that service has always been to me a simple thing: I am a soldier, but if for you your service comes in many forms, through many fashions, then… it's not my place to judge, Lord." He pauses.  
He feels exposed although perhaps it is not he who should feel so vulnerable. He looks up into his Lord's broad, stern face,  
"Lord, you have earned my respect and admiration through your deeds. Not just on the battlefield but in how you approach everyday life. There is nothing you can do that will take that admiration and respect away."  
The General stares at him and then snorts, frowning in thought, and turns away to look out over the clearing. Ordon does the same. They sit in silence once more.

A cool wind blows through the leaves and the flying creature with strange wings leaps up into the air, catching the breeze, and disappears into the shadowed trees.   
"I asked the Crystal," the General begins, "If the Emperor would ever… admire and respect me as I admire and respect him." He shuffles slightly, clenches his hands together. Rubs the pad of his thumb over the opposite thumb’s heel.  
"The Crystal said that I would die before receiving such a thing."  
He snorts.   
Ordon risks a glance at his Lord from the corner of his eye. His face is tense, his eyes… pained, as though he has received a wound.   
"How should I feel about that?" The General asks.  
Ordon clasps his own hands together.   
"I think," he says, "if I were in that position, I would feel a great deal of pain at such a truth."  
The General snorts, bitterly amused,  
"But," Ordon continues,  
"But?" The General grunts, turning to him brow raised incredulously.  
"But I believe that truth can be changed. Truth is just an accumulation of facts. A reality that occurs due to decisions, due to actions. If the Crystal shows the truth of the future then there is time now to change that truth."   
The General has remained silent and Ordon falls silent too, concerned he has overstepped his mark.   
He looks up at his Lord carefully. The General is staring into the clearing with wide eyes. He looks down at Ordon and blinks at him,  
"You believe that, Ordon?"  
"Yes, Lord. Completely."  
The General snorts, nods his head,  
"Very well." He claps Ordon on the shoulder, "Well done, Ordon. A good answer. Let's go."  
He stands and strides away and Ordon must hurry up and after him as they head back the way they came.  
"Is that all you needed, Lord?"  
"Yes, Ordon." The General grunts, "I was testing your attitude. A soldier has to have an unbeatable optimism and a solid grasp as to why he fights. Well done. You have both."  
"Thank you, Lord." Ordon says, struggling to keep up with his Lord's long and quick strides. He hopes his answer sounds sincere; it is but… he doesn't believe for a minute that this has been one of the General's tests. He doesn't believe the General is a liar, merely that… the General is a man. An immortal, god-like man but a man all the same. Ordon can imagine how he would have felt if he had been rejected by his wife when they had been young. That same hopeless look of emptiness had been in the Lord General's eyes. His blind walk forward into the Dark Wood an external manifestation of his internal loss of direction. Ordon is a soldier but he is also a husband and he loves his wife completely. Adores her. Worships her. And although his Lord had used less emotionally charged words Ordon knows what it is his Lord had wanted to say.

How difficult it must be, Ordon thinks as he looks up his General: monolithic and rolling through the forest like some ancient awakened beast, to love someone as god-like and unreachable as the Emperor. He cannot even imagine what it would be like to love the Lord General he is so far above him, so alien to him, and the Emperor is above even the Lord General. How painful it must be for his Lord. How lonely. A constant struggle upwards towards the heavens, attempting to pluck down a star. 

Ordon feels his heart swell. It aches for his Lord, on behalf of his Lord in his quest. The Lord General's love for the Emperor is so noble, so pure, it touches him in the deepest recesses of his soul. Their courtship must be beautiful: complex, and precise, and subtle, and deep like a bottomless ocean. They must speak of high-minded things, talk long into the hours of the night on poetry and art and the sciences. He has very rarely seen the Emperor but when he has, he has always been struck by the Emperor's stern refinement. Dignified would be the word. He had been surprised, of course, at seeing them engaged in carnal activities in the throne room but no doubt other aspects of their relationship were far less base. Ordon thinks he should tell his Lord how his admiration for him has only grown, but he does not. He takes his thoughts and locks them away in secret, in the recesses of his mind where they belong. He is a private Gelfling, stern and internal like his mentor. His Lord had come to him for his thoughts and he had given them; his piece said now is the time for silence. Soon they will leave the shadow of the trees and it will have been as if this conversation had never happened. He looks ahead, yes, he can see the light growing. They are getting closer. Soon they will break through.


	24. Dr's Office

SkekVar hates the Scientist's lab. It's a dark crooked place full of stinking animals and things that he cannot understand. The Emperor seems to understand the Scientist's words and, if anything, that only frustrates SkekVar more. It makes him feel like a failure. (How dare that crooked little weakling Scientist make him feel lessened!) Yet here he is, sitting on the Scientist's lab table, getting his check-up for the trine. Not that Scientist ever does much to help them, just mutters to himself and takes measurements and pokes things and writes in his little book and tells SkekVar he is getting fat.  
SkekVar is not getting fat. He is bulking.  
And if he is fat, it is only because the Emperor likes him this way: big and heavy so he can pin him down.   
SkekVar feels the beginning of a smile curling up his mouth at the thought of his Emperor in bed and he tamps it down quickly, he is after all naked and his thoughts could lead nowhere good.  
SkekTek tuts as he measures SkekVar's waistline and the General snarls and slaps him over the back of the head,  
"Ow! Wretched oath! Get your filthy phalanges off me! You should be thanking me," Scientist grumbles as he backs out of the General's range, "I'm looking after your health!"  
"I'm not fat!" SkekVar snarls, "I'm building mass! It's something a weakling like you wouldn't understand!"  
"A weakling…" Scientist hisses, "the real weakling is you, General! You have a weak brain! A soft smooth brain like your soft fatty stomach!"  
SkekVar roars and leaps up, the animals begin to shriek and jump in their cages  
"Now now, Skeksis," The Emperor purrs as he enters, "what sort of example are you setting the animals?"  
Scientist cringes, SkekVar scratches the back of his head, embarrassed, and sits back down.   
"My apologies, sire."  
"The General struck me!" SkekTek whines,  
"Then you probably deserved it." The Emperor purrs.   
Scientist cows, drawing into himself and wringing his hands,  
"Of course, sire, of course."  
"How is my General looking this trine?" The Emperor purrs as he walks around the table until he is standing behind the General, just at his shoulder, speaking past him, unable to be seen by him. SkekVar swallows nervously. Usually, he would be elated by the Emperor's presence, but the Emperor has taken a liking to trying to humiliate him in public and so his appearance can mean nothing good. 

The Emperor knows perfectly well how his General is looking this trine. He's seen every inch of SkekVar's body. Knows his limitations and his fitness, after all he's tested them enough. Pushed his General to the edge time and time again. Drawn him to tears. There is nothing more delightful. Nothing more delicious than watching his General reach his breaking point and then pushing him over it.

He traces the tips on his claws over the General's nobbled back, his arm concealed from Scientist's line of sight, and inwardly smirks as he feels the flesh tremble.   
"He's generally fit, sire." Scientist begins, settling into his familiar role and taking confidence from it, "except for his weight. He's bloated, sire, it's putting a strain on his breathing."  
SkekVar snorts angrily and Scientist raises a patronising brow,  
"A prime example."  
"My breathing is fine!" SkekVar snarls, "I just like to snort!"  
The Emperor trails his fingers up the base of SkekVar's tail and lower back, feels him shudder,  
"You heard him, Scientist. He 'likes to snort'."  
"Yes, well…" Scientist loses confidence, “I bow to your superior wisdom, sire.”   
“That better not be sarcasm, Scientist.”  
“No, sire, no!” hunched over SkekTek scurries to his tables and clutches up some equipment, "But I-I have a few tests to do. Taking blood and such and then he can go."

Behind him, the Emperor slides his talons down and under SkekVar's tail, tickling around his cloaca. SkekVar snorts loudly, eyes wide.  
"Now, now, General." The Emperor purrs, "Not frightened by a little blood taking?"  
"No, sire." He rasps as the pads of the Emperor's finger stroke over his hole.   
SkekVar crosses his legs.   
Scientist bobs back over, overly large needle ready. He grins,  
"Ready, General? Be brave!"   
Ha jabs it into SkekVar's arm. His technique is more athletic than precise, and SkekVar jumps as the needle enters his arm. Mostly because the Emperor's finger has just penetrated him. He grimaces as his cocks jumps out, pushing between his thighs. The Emperor's finger slide out of his hole and begin stroking the root of his cocks in slow, soft circles.  
"You're doing very well, General." He purrs, "I'm so very proud."  
SkekVar is sweating profusely.  
"I don't know about that," Scientist says and he pulls the needle out, "he's sweating and grinding his teeth. Developed a phobia of needles, General?'  
SkekVar shakes his head.   
Scientist raises one brow at him,  
"Well… I have your blood sample so I suppose you can go."  
"No." SkekVar croaks.  
Scientist bounces on his heels with surprise,  
"No?"  
"No?" The Emperor echoes, dramatically incredulous.  
"Uh, Scientist is right," he wheezes, "I'm not feeling well, I need to remain sitting down."  
"General," the Emperor says, all concern, "If you are feeling so unwell perhaps it would be better if you were lying down."  
"No!"  
The Emperor looks shocked, Scientist horrified,  
"You would refuse the command of your Emperor?"  
SkekVar turns to him, desperate. Begging, pleading with his eyes. The Emperor smiles. SkekVar swallows down all hope and lies back.  
SkekTek screeches,  
"Oh, put those things away!" and hits him on the dick with the heavy metal handle of the needle.   
SkekVar roars, the Emperor bursts with laughter,  
"Filthy, General!" He cries, "You monster, assaulting SkekTek's eyes! Poor Scientist, poor poor Scientist!"  
SkekVar rolls off the table and dresses furiously, face flushed red, drenched in sweat.  
"Forgive, sire, forgive."  
"You dirty, Skeksis." The Emperor purrs, "Don't apologise to me, apologise to Scientist."  
SkekVar stares at him in disbelief, then he and Scientist stare at each other in disbelief.   
"Go on then." The Emperor says.  
SkekVar rises to his full height, towering over Scientist, puffs out his chest.  
"Forgive, Scientist." He growls.  
Scientist swallows,  
"Uh, forgiven?"  
"No, no," the Emperor chides, "Nicely, General."   
SkekVar blinks at him, then looks down at Scientist. They stare at each other share a mutual thought:  
I do not want to do this.  
SkekVar bows at the waist,  
"Forgive, Scientist." He says firmly (but not threateningly).  
"You are forgiven." Scientist croaks.  
"Good." The Emperor purrs, "Now kiss his hand."  
SkekVar stares at him, still bowed over, then looks at Scientist's crooked bony hand then back at his Emperor.  
"I would rather he didn't." Scientist says.  
"I wasn't asking you." The Emperor snaps.  
Scientist cows.  
SkekVar takes his hand, lifts it to his beak and pecks it. SkekTek cringes away.  
"May I stand, sire?"  
"Yes, General, you have shown yourself humbled. You may leave."  
SkekVar blows air out of his nose, bows to his Emperor and storms out.   
"Well done, Scientist," the Emperor says, patting him on the shoulder, "Now doesn't that feel good."  
SkekTek grimaces an attempt at a smile and nods,  
“Yes, Emperor, wonderful.”  
“Good,” the Emperor purrs, “now don’t say I never do anything for you.”


	25. Water and Oil

SkekVar heads into the en suite. The brass bath is filled with hot water, steaming. He takes the full-length mirror off the wall and leans it in the corner of the room, adjusting it until he's happy with the angle. Then he steps back and disrobes slowly, looking into it. When he's naked, he steps into the bath. He stands, although there is room enough for two to sit comfortably, and lifts a deep bowl that he uses to scoop up the hot water. Looking into the mirror he pours it slowly over his pectorals and lets it run in a sheet over his breasts and stomach, splashing into the bath. He repeats this, then lifts a circular fragrant soap and begins to massage it in circles over his pectorals until he builds up a lather. He strokes and squeezes his pectorals, and then his breasts, and then his stomach, sliding his slippery hands over his skin. His cocks spring up and he pauses, looking into the mirror. 

The Emperor looks back at him, reflected, lying in his bed. He is nude, with his hands are wrapped around his cocks, his eyes heavily hooded. He nods and SkekVar slides his soap slicked hands down his stomach to grasp his cocks and begins to stroke himself. The Emperor sets the pace and they stroke themselves together watching each other in the mirror. SkekVar slides one hand back up to squeeze and massage his pecs again, slapping them with a resounding smack, and watches as the Emperor flicks his tongue over his teeth hungrily,  
"Come here," the Emperor wheezes, "Come, come!"  
SkekVar obeys, climbing out of the bath and hurrying, dripping wet, into the bedroom. The Emperor practically drags him down onto the bed, rolling until SkekVar is on his back and he is sitting astride the General's ribs. He reaches haphazardly into the bedside drawer and takes out the container of oil spilling it generously over SkekVar's chest. He tosses it aside and pushes SkekVar's pecs together,  
"Together," he wheezes, "Squeeze them together!"  
SkekVar does as he's told and is surprised when the Emperor adjusts himself and thrusts in between his pecs,  
"Yes!" The Emperor gasps, rutting into his chest muscles, cocks and pecs slick with oil and water and precum, "Yes, yes, SkekVar! Tighter!"  
SkekVar puffs his chest out, squeezing and flexing his muscles. Then tucks his beak down and opens his mouth so he can lick the Emperor's heads as they thrust in and out of his chest. The Emperor gasps, pumping frantically, groaning as SkekVar licks and laps and squeezes him, and then cries out breathily as he shoots between SkekVar's pecs and over his eager tongue.

SkekVar moans as the Emperor shudders. He can feel the Emperor's cocks twitching and throbbing between his muscles. The Emperor pulls out and sits back, guiding SkekVar to let go. He looks down at SkekVar's chest, shiny with oil and splattered with his cum, and he groans a deep hungry groan,  
"Oh, yes." He moans, sliding his hands through the mess, smearing it over SkekVar's muscles, "Lovely."

He slides his hands up so that SkekVar can lick and suck the cum from his fingers and SkekVar looks up into his eyes, hot and adoring, as he works the lengths of the Emperor's fingers as though they were his cocks. The Emperor groans and then shuffles down until he's sitting in SkekVar's lap and licks the last of the mess from his General's chest. Then he reaches behind himself, finds SkekVar's cocks and guides them into his hole, sitting down on them. 

They groan together and rock against each other. Slowly, luxuriantly. There is no rush, just the building pleasure of their hot, wet bodies. When they cum, SkekVar drags the Emperor down on top of him, pressing their torsos together, licking and nibbling at his neck and shoulders. Rocking their bodies together gently until they are sighing and resting weakly against one another. 

SkekVar scratches his claws up and down the Emperor's bony back, finds all the spots he likes and scratches them, feels the Emperor squeeze around him in response. The Emperor is lying with his head pillowed on SkekVar's chest, his breath wheezing, and SkekVar closes his eyes and listens to him and just feels him. The Emperor drifts into sleep.

It is in moments like these when they are both satisfied, lying together, exhausted and undeniably not as young and fit as they used to be, that SkekVar cannot truly believe that the Emperor does not love him. What he feels in his own heart is so overwhelming, so immense that one body could simply not contain it. It must spill out, the Emperor must carry it to or else SkekVar would be crushed under the enormity of its weight. When the Emperor is lying in his arms, peacefully asleep. When his bony hand reaches out blindly in the dark to grasp SkekVar's own. When he rolls over and presses himself into SkekVar's side or against his back, SkekVar cannot believe the Emperor doesn't love him. It simply does not make sense. 

He wraps his arms around the Emperor and squeezes him close, holds onto him in sleep because he knows that when he wakes the Emperor will pull away from him. Now is the time: in the sex warmed bed, sticky and disgusting with their own fluids, now is the time for love. And SkekVar will bathe in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for spelling errors in these stories, I've not really been editing them that much.


	26. Indulging the General

In time, everything grows to be boring. Even the most ingenious find themselves running short of ideas. For hundreds of years, SkekSo chafed at the very concept of letting his General dictate anything to him but now… now he finds he is bored of his own desires. They seem pedestrian. One can only stick their dick in, or slap their dick on, so many body parts and in so many fashions before it begins to feel routine. It turns out that there are no infinite combinations. 

In a moment of weakness, SkekSo had agreed to gift SkekVar one night. One night that he could plan and steer without the Emperor's interference. Once he had sobered up, SkekSo had, of course, considered pulling out (pardon the pun) but that reeked of indecisiveness or worse cowardice, so he had stuck to his word. Tonight would be SkekVar's night. A night of indulging the General's most intimate fantasies (as dull as they may turn out to be) laid out and directed by the General himself. At least, it would be a test of the General's imagination. At most, alleviation from the daily drudgery of hedonistic existence.

The night would begin with eating, as so many things SkekVar did. The General was a prodigious eater. They dined together, privately in the Emperor's quarters. A table was laid out with their favourite foods, their favourite wines, the room warmed by candlelight. It was utterly… saccharine. Although, the Emperor had to admit the peace and intimacy made a nice change to the usual hectic squabbling of the daily Skeksis food-fight that they had come to excuse as a meal. The wine was good, and the food also (of course) and SkekVar made no attempt at highbrow conversation which SkekSo appreciated. He didn't need that level of social discomfort. In fact, SkekVar spent much of the time doing what he did well: listening raptly while SkekSo talked exhaustively on himself. 

(The Emperor simply oozed charisma, but luckily they had napkins.)

When they were done eating, they listened to some music and sat and talked. SkekSo mostly talking and SkekVar mostly listening. The Emperor couldn't understand how this activity was designed to get his dick hard but he didn't unnecessarily question it. After an hour's digestion time, SkekVar retired to the en suite and drew the Emperor a hot bath. The bath was plenty big enough for two, the room close with steam. SkekVar disrobed them both and gave the Emperor his arm to aid him into the water. 

Now, SkekVar would bathe him. Pressed together in the steamy water, milky with soaps and softening creams, the Emperor found himself beginning to feel the outline of SkekVar's plan. The General's strong hands caressed him, rubbed soap over his skin, cupped the water and poured it over the Emperor's shuddering body. He could feel SkekVar's hard cocks pressing against his back. The combination of that and General's gentle but thorough attentions had him rigid and growing impatient,  
He hissed,  
"Fuck me." And was surprised when SkekVar responded:  
"No."  
That had been unacceptable, but, as SkekVar had pointed out (bottom lip quivering and his eyes pitifully sad) this was his night and the Emperor had made a promise.   
So SkekSo conceded. But on his own terms and not without some punishment. When SkekVar towelled him down roughly, tormenting him by rubbing his hard cocks with the towel, SkekSo bit him. Bit him and drew blood.

Purring apologetically, General guided him to the bed. SkekSo lay on his stomach as requested, hard and flustered and annoyed. The bed creaked and shifted as SkekVar climbed up onto it. The next segment was a massage. He hadn't realised from SkekVar's description how long it would be.

SkekVar's hands rubbed scented cream into his master's wrinkled grey skin, kneading and squeezing his tense muscles. The daily stress of organising the squabbling and squalling Skeksis had left the Emperor with muscles like steel wire and joints that ached with every movement. SkekVar's strong, rough and firm hands dealt with that.

At first, the Emperor grew irritated, increasingly hard and horny, then he begged, arching his back and lifting his tail, then he grew angry, ordering SkekVar to fuck him, then he offered to let SkekVar have another night to try his plans again if SkekVar fucked him, then he melted into the bed, soft and drowsy and relaxed. Every inch of his body felt warm, loose and limber. The General's heavy hot body resting on his back, his three thick hard cocks content in being pressed against his master's skin. 

SkekVar kissed his way down the Emperor's back, lapping and nibbling at his softened skin. SkekSo laid still, barely reacted as his General lifted his tail and draped it over his shoulder. He only sighed when SkekVar's long, strong, wet tongue found his hole. 

This section of the evening would also last hours. 

A night of worship was what SkekVar had requested and a night of worship would be what he supplied 

After his first orgasm, the Emperor rolled on his back. SkekVar lifted his legs, resting them over his shoulders, and used the opportunity to press his tongue deeper into him. SkekSo trembled, thighs twitching, hole clenching, half drawing him in and half rejecting him. Oversensitive. Hungry. SkekVar worked him mercilessly. Steady, attentive, always pushing forward into battle, never stopping until he had achieved victory. These were a few traits the Emperor enjoyed in his General.  
"SkekVar," he panted, "how much-?"   
Whatever he had intended to say was lost in his second orgasm. 

By the third he was writhing on the bed, knotting the bedsheets and panting SkekVar's name. It was agony, it was ecstasy. Hours of denial building to hours of pleasure. He was so sensitive it was a struggle to not come and he did so through sheer force of will alone, hissing through his teeth.

The General took a break from his slick hole to slide his tongue up to lick and suck his Emperor's cocks. SkekSo almost cried out, thighs trembling and squeezing around SkekVar's head, but retained his dignity. His clawed hand clutching at the short black mane around the back of SkekVar's head. Snarling, SkekSo came again.   
"I'm sorry, sire." SkekVar murmured, sliding up to breathe into his master's ear, his strong hands massaging his Emperor's cocks, "but you promised."

SkekSo gasped as SkekVar penetrated him. 

Thick hot cocks slipping slowly, easily inside of him. SkekSo's talons scrabbled at SkekVar's back as his General slid in and out of him. Drawing out until just his heads remained, swirling them, and then pushing slowly, agonizingly slowly back in,  
"Please," he gasped, "please fuck me!"  
"I'm sorry, sire. You promised."  
"Please! Please!"   
The Emperor's claws dragged great red gashes down SkekVar's back as he came again, clenching and twitching around SkekVar's cocks. SkekVar was still hard. Kept fucking him, slowly. So slowly, so slowly as the Emperor whimpered and shuddered and scratched him and bit him and ordered him to pound him into the mattress until he couldn't walk. But he didn't. He pumped him slowly and steadily until he bucked under him, screaming as he came again. 

Only then, as the Emperor lay shuddering, drenched in sweat, weak and without the will to fight, did he finally give him what he had begged for. 

Hoisting the Emperor's legs up around his waist, SkekVar let loose: buried his teeth in the Emperor's shoulder, his claws into the Emperor's hips, and beat the headboard against the wall in time with the Emperor's broken wails of pleasure. Long abandoned was language, reason, the desire to maintain control. All SkekSo hoped to do was cling to SkekVar's body and survive. 

When SkekVar finally came in him, they threw their heads back and howled together. Animals, wild and mindless. Two beasts, nude as the day they were created, exhausted, covered in blood and sweat, and trembling. SkekVar pinned him down and kissed him until he couldn't breathe. 

SkekSo came to the next morning, every inch of his body aching, bruised and stretched. Exhausted. Utterly limp and weak, and completely flushed with satisfaction. His General climbed into the bed beside him, ran his hand down his Emperor's chest, pressed a kiss to his neck, said softly,  
"Did you enjoy my fantasy, sire?"  
SkekSo ran his tongue over his teeth, wheezed in a rattling breath, double-checked to make up sure he could still feel his legs and rasped,  
"Oh yes, I think I will be willing to indulge you again."


	27. Crossposting this one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this to both Warfare fics because it concerns both pairings.

SkekUng bounces the hard ball up on the heel of his hand and snatches it out of the air with the other. SkekVar is ignoring him and he wrinkles his beak at him, sticks his tongue out and pulls a face. SkekVar stares down at the gate and the rippling moat and scratches his feathered head.  
"You're going to go bald." SkekUng says.  
The Ambassador snorts and shoots him a glare from the corner of his eye but stops picking at the mass of black feathers.  
SkekUng pulls another ball from his pocket and throws them both up to watch them arc from hand to hand,  
"Stop that." SkekVar snorts, "clown's games."  
"SkekLi taught me. Good for hand-eye coordination."  
"You're making a fool of yourself."  
SkekUng ignores him and the Ambassador smacks one of the balls from the air and sends it down into the moat. SkekUng snarls, spines and feathers rising and SkekVar turns on him. They square-up, chest to puffed out chest, feathers on-end and tails thrashing and teeth bared. This lasts for a few moments and then SkekUng submits. 

Below them, the Castle doors creak open. SkekVar hurries to the edge of the balcony and peers down,  
"SkekSil," he sneers.   
SkekUng hurries up beside him and they stare down at the top of the Chamberlain's head like two Fizzigigs eyeing a crawly, whipping their tails back and forth,  
"I'm going to spit on him." SkekUng says,  
"Hahaha, good."  
SkekUng gurgles up a mouthful of saliva and lets it dribble from his beak.   
They watch it fall in a suspenseful silence.   
It hits the top of the Chamberlain's head and he flinches, touches it and then looks up. When he sees them grinning he squawks angrily. SkekUng waves to him and he and SkekVar both laugh, jostling each other good-humouredly. 

A vehicle comes rattling up over the green.  
Even from this distance, the Emperor's silhouette can be spied out, sitting ramrod straight in the open coach, his outfit and feathers as black as the shadow he casts on the sunlit grass. SkekVar snorts and bolts from the balcony, back down the stairs. SkekUng rolls his eyes,  
Pathetic, he thinks, the both of them.

SkekSil stands below, wringing his hands and smirking to himself that he will be the one to greet the Emperor. That is until SkekVar comes lolloping out of the door and bodily throws him aside, almost toppling him into the lake. 

The Ambassador belts over the bridge, greeting the coach like a Fizzigig with his waggling tail. SkekUng can't see the Emperor well but he can tell from the lay of his feathers that he is amused. When the coach stops, SkekVar offers the Emperor his hand and helps him down.   
SkekVar wrinkles his beak in disgust. Kiss-arse. 

SkekSil trembles with rage. SkekUng watches him, half curious and half-amused. Watches the Chamberlain watch the Ambassador and the Emperor, as the Ambassador watches the Emperor. SkekSil's hands clench into fists, only briefly, and then they relax and he places one over his chest as he bows low to the Emperor. Whatever they say is lost on SkekUng, the distance making their words impossible to make out, but he can read their body language and that is where the real conversation lies. 

When the Emperor looks up to him, he bows his head low and respectful. The Emperor waits until he looks up and then looks away. SkekUng smiles. SkekVar glowers at him, eyes hot and jealous. SkekSil's hard sharp eyes crease in the corners. That is never a good sign. You don't have to have lived hundreds of years to know the Chamberlain's a creepy little sneak. A troublemaker. SkekUng frowns: thinking about the Chamberlain has put him in a bad mood. 

The Emperor and SkekVar pass through the Castle doors and into the shadows, SkekSil trotting along behind them (no doubt bending the Emperor's ear). SkekUng heads for the stairs himself. Most likely the Emperor will want a brief reprieve while he is updated on what has occurred in his absence. That gives SkekUng enough time to make himself presentable. He must make a good impression: he is looking for a promotion. SpyMaster is not a job that suits him well. He does it and does it effectively but he doesn't enjoy it, and besides, he has so many physical attributes that the Emperor could put to use. He wonders if SkekTek knows of the Emperor's return, he appreciates any occasion that gives him a chance of company. Poor little bird locked up in his cage. Descending the shadowed stairs he smiles to himself: there must be something he can do to jam a rod in the Chamberlain's gears. Something he can say that will undermine whatever it is SkekSil is scheming over. Yes, he and SkekTek can have a little think. The Emperor's return could be profitable and fun. Never a dull moment in the Castle of the Crystal.


	28. Dr's Visit

SkekVar lifts the Emperor and bodily flings him, laughing, onto the bed. The Emperor bounces on the mattress interrupting his laughter with a wheeze and then SkekVar is blotting out the light casting his immense shadow of his master. The Emperor grins and throws his legs open, tail waggling. SkekVar pounces on him and they roll, panting and eager over the huge silk-sheet-slippery expanse of the bed, struggling against each other growling and purring and nipping and scratching, tails curled together. SkekVar finally pins the Emperor down and SkekSo arches under him welcoming him in to claim his reward. They wrap their arms around each other, scratching their fingers through the ever more sparse hair on each other's backs, tails squeezing and stroking together, and rut against the bed eagerly. The room fills with their wheezing panting and chesty groans. There's no need for anything obtuse tonight: no games, psychological or sexual. No ropes or whips or exorcising of emotional demons. Just SkekVar's thick lengths slapping in and out of the Emperor's tight hole and the grinding of the Emperor's erections against SkekVar's nobbled fat stomach.

The Emperor throws his head back and groans, eyelids fluttering closed. There's nothing quite like being pinned under SkekVar's hot heavy body. He is always striving for control, looking over both shoulders should it be snatched from him without him knowing. Trapped under SkekVar's huge bulk he can do nothing but have his hole pounded into submission by the General. He writhes and wriggles as best he can, toes curling, panting and moaning eagerly. Oh yes, the illusion of losing control suits him quite well. SkekVar makes a strange noise in his earhole. He pauses. The General makes the noise again, his fingers flexing around the Emperor's wrists. SkekSo has heard SkekVar make a thousand and one noises while they've fucked and this is not one of them.  
"General?"  
SkekVar pulls out and rolls off of him, toppling onto his back on the bed. SkekSo sits up,  
"General," he snaps.  
Then he pauses,  
"Stay there!" He barks and he pulls on a robe and runs to the door,  
"Gelfling!" He bellows, voice echoing down the corridor, "Summon the Scientist! Yes. The Scientist. Immediately."

From his spot on the Emperor's bed, SkekVar listens to the panic in his master's voice. He's feeling a little panicked too. He's sweating, his limbs aching, he feels weak and his heart- his heart-

SkekSo leans over him on the bed,  
"What's wrong, General?" He presses his hand to SkekVar's forehead, "you're white as a sheet."  
He climbs off the bed, shouts,  
"Hurry up! Get Scientist to hurry up!"  
Then, with a hint of relief,  
"Scientist!"  
The crooked little creature comes hobbling into the room lugging a heavy leather bag,  
"What's wrong," he begins and then he catches sight of SkekVar, "Oh my."  
He hurries round to the closest side of the bed,  
"Can you move him closer to the edge? It would make it easier to reach him?"  
"Shut up!" SkekSo snarls, "What's happening?"  
With a hum, SkekSil pokes his head through the open door. The Emperor turns to him, bellows,  
"Get out!" And slams the door closed.  
Scientist takes his stethoscope from his leather bag and places it to SkekVar's chest. SkekVar gasps, his expression growing slack, his eyes bleary.  
"Oh dear." Scientist says, grimacing,  
"General." The Emperor wheezes.  
"The General is having a heart attack." Scientist says, delivering his judgement, "Which is why I have been suggesting he address his weight."  
SkekSo backhands him, almost knocking him to the floor,  
"Shut up and fix him!" He snarls, spitting.  
"I'll try, I'll try!" Scientist cries, scrabbling through his bag.  
"Don't try, do!"

On the bed SkekVar gasps again. His hands are clenched painfully in the sheets. He stares at the Emperor with unfocused eyes,  
"General," the Emperor says, his voice faint, "General," and the world grows very dark and fades to black.

"He's dead." Scientist says, voice weak.  
"Never!" SkekSo barks, "Skeksis don't die! Bring him back!"  
"His heart isn't beating, sire-"  
"Then make it beat!"  
Scientist grimaces,  
"Very well," he rifles through his bag, "I have an experimental toy. Not so different from a cattle prod. A large enough shock can stop a heart- ah, here!"  
He pulls it out.  
It's a strange contraption looking halfway between a cattle prod and a crank whisk. He grabs the handle and winds it vigorously,  
"You might want to step away, sire, and off of the bed."  
The Emperor retreats, hands clenching and unclenching, his brow glossy with cold sweat.  
Scientist takes a second to grin at the sight of his tormentor dead and then plunges the end of the contraption into his chest and charges him with enough voltage to bring down a mounder. SkekVar's body convulses then flops down. Scientist pulls the device free and winds it again, pressing his earhole to SkekVar's chest,  
"Still dead!" He declares, and he shocks him again. He finds the same,  
"Once more into the breach!" He cries and shocks him a third time, then listens.  
"Ah-ha!" He climbs up onto the bed and attempts to compress the General's chest to no avail,  
"Weakling!" SkekSo snarls and he jumps up on the bed and pumps the General's chest furiously,  
"Careful, the heart has a rhythm."  
The Emperor calms his movements. His hands are trembling and he tries to focus on counting the beat in his head and not on how pale and empty SkekVar's face looks.  
"Enough," Scientist says, waving his hands away.  
He places the stethoscope to SkekVar's chest,  
"Hmm."  
"What does that mean!"  
"I'm going to have to breathe some air into his lungs while you pump his chest."  
"No!" SkekSo barks, "I'll do it!"  
He pumps the General's chest, breathes into his mouth, pumps his chest, repeats. He is losing control. Losing control of the General, losing control of the situation. His own heart is pounding, he feels nauseous, his legs tremble with the suppressed desire to jump up and flee through the castle and throw himself into the moat-  
"There!" Scientist cries, listening to the stethoscope, "A miracle of science!"  
SkekSo draws away, suddenly overcome by fear,  
"General," he says quietly, and he leans in and presses his ear to the General's chest.  
Yes. There. Weak and faint a heartbeat.  
The General's heart beats for the Emperor once more.  
"He'll need bed rest." Scientist says, packing up his bag, "and a healthier diet! ...we all need that."  
SkekSo nods numbly,  
"Yes, of course."  
"And no vigorous exercise until I give my permission. I'll have to regularly check up on him. Probably best to have a Podling or a Gelfling slave attend him at all times unless he dies again."  
The Emperor's head twists around, his eyes like two arrowheads. Scientist shrinks,  
"Eh, just to say these can be repeat occurrences."  
"Scientist," the Emperor says, cold and calm, "if the General dies I will see that you do too."  
"Of course," Scientist says, bowing and backing to the door, "Of course, sire. Eh, um, I will return with further equipment to monitor the General's health."  
He opens the door and ducks out and SkekSo gets a second-long glimpse of SkekSil standing on the other side of the door smiling intolerably before the door closes again. SkekSo inhales a hissing breath, his bony chest inflating and deflating.

Sitting on the bed the Emperor passes a sweaty palm over SkekVar's sweaty forehead, scratching his nails over his scalp and burying them in his black hair,  
"General," he says, voice soft and low.  
SkekVar slaps his tongue against the roof of his mouth and squeezes his eyes tightly closed. The Emperor exhales. He feels weak,  
"Open your eyes, General," he says, "it's rude to not acknowledge your Emperor."  
SkekVar's gentle yellow eyes blink open, bleary,  
"Forgive." He whispers.  
The Emperor strokes his hand over his head again, petting him,  
"Forgiven." He says softly, "Now rest, General. I cannot have my good soldier weak and on his knees."  
SkekVar mumbles something incoherent and closes his eyes. For a moment SkekSo's heart pounds with fear, and then the General begins to snore. SkekSo clutches at his chest in relief,  
"General," he whispers, "you will kill me."  
What a foolish way to die.  
What a hedonistic way to die.  
What a waste of a life to die at all.  
But, the General has overcome and that is all that matters. Death will not claim a Skeksis today. No, the Emperor has brought him back. With his own two hands and the breath of his lungs, he has returned SkekVar from the dead. SkekSo lies down on the bed. He is exhausted. He blinks slowly, tilts his head and stares at the General's profile. His long snout, creased eyes, the gentle upward curve of his mouth now pulled down.  
"Never forget," the Emperor whispers, "that I hold the power of life and death."  
Then he closes his eyes and falls asleep.


	29. Dr's Orders

Scientist hobbles around the room, dithering. The clink and clank of his various instruments as he packs them into his little bag and the pocket on the front of his apron makes SkekVar's headache.   
"You can fuss to the Emperor all you want, obfuscate the issue, but the reality remains the same: you must remain in bed." He waggles one crooked bony finger at the General from safely across the other side of the room. In bed, SkekVar's tail beats the mattress furiously,  
"I'm well enough to go outside!" He snarls,  
"Who said so?"  
"I did!"  
"And who taught you the sciences of the body?" SkekTek cups his hand around his earhole, "Hmm? Speak up!"  
SkekVar snarls and jerks forward as if to leap from the bed but he grasps his chest instead and flops down weak and pale and in a cold sweat.  
"Imbecile!" SkekTek curses, scurrying to him in order to listen to his heartbeat, "the Emperor will have my head if you keep behaving like an idiot!"  
SkekVar doesn't reply. Just lies still and lets the Scientist minister to him.  
"You're fine," SkekTek says, tutting, "but it's pure luck! Rest! Rest is what you need! Rest and recuperation!"  
He waggles a judgemental finger in SkekVar's face and the General makes a pitiful attempt at biting it,  
"Save your energy," the Scientist says, hobbling back to collect his belongings, "how long do you think the Emperor's patience is going to last with you if he here's you keep extending your bedtime?"   
He bobs to the door and gives SkekVar a sour look over his shoulder,   
"Take this seriously, General. You did die." And he pushes open the door, "I'll send in the Podlings with your breakfast."

The Podlings rattle in a cart with a measly portion size on it. The sight makes SkekVar want to cry. Usually, it would take both the top and bottom shelf of the cart in order to fit his breakfast but now it's one average-sized plate of boiled egg and soldiers. The slaves lift it awkwardly and place it on his lap and then bow and hurry out. And no wine to drink either, only water or honeyed-milk. SkekVar can see his own miserable reflection in the polished silver cutlery and he examines himself in the flat blade of the knife. He looks waxy, his eyes a pair of dark pits in his blanched face. It's no wonder he has been confined. It is no wonder the Emperor has not come to see him. Who would want to look at such a hideous reminder of death? He lifts up one of the eggs, it has a blue watercolour shell and he turns it in his hand, examining it on all sides. He just can't bring himself to eat it and he pushes the tray down his lap and flops back on his pillows.

What's the point?

What Emperor in his right mind would want a General who dies at the slightest friendly exercise?

Pathetic.

He really should have been more careful with his body.  
-The door slams and SkekVar jumps, clutching at his heart. There is a pause and then the brass handle turns and the door is kicked open,  
"The doctors here!" SkekEkt screeches, carrying in two arms full of boxes and whatsamagigs.   
"What are you doing here!" SkekVar barks, "I'm supposed to be resting!"  
"Don't get up!" SkekEkt squawks dropping his collection unceremoniously onto SkekVar's desk, "I'm here to give you some healing beauty therapy!"  
"I don't want it."  
"Oh, don't be like that, that's no fun! Come on," he says, clapping his hands, "eat your eggy soldiers like a good boy- I'm going to heat some water!"   
He disappears into the en suite tittering and squawking to himself and SkekVar crosses his arms in protest and purposely does not eat his breakfast. When SkekEkt returns it's in a significantly paired down outfit and carrying a bowl of steaming water. He gives SkekVar a dour look,  
"Why don't you want your nice eggys? Gourmand worked so hard for you. You've no idea how taxing it was for him making such a boring meal."  
SkekEkt places the bowl on the General's bedside table and retrieves a thin towel from his bag and some vials and bottles.  
"What are those?" SkekVar grumbles, peering over the side of the bed to watch SkekEkt tip droplets of the different coloured liquids into the steaming water,  
"You mean water those!" He throws his head back and screeches with laughter,  
"I don't get it."  
"Never mind, darling, we all have our talents. They're essences, concentrated floral scents. Like I wear! Smell me!"   
He wafts himself furiously at SkekVar and SkekVar wrinkles his nose and leans away,  
"I don't want to."  
"Your loss!"   
He submerges the towel into the steaming water, draws it up and wrings it mostly out,  
"Lay back."  
"No."  
"Don't be such a pig, do as your told."  
SkekVar huffs and lies back,  
"There," SkekEkt says as he places the hot, slightly wet towel over SkekVar's face, "let that soothe your muscles, open your pores, and reintroduce some moisture into your skin. Close your eyes and just enjoy the delightful floral smells while I set up."  
SkekVar snorts, blowing the lavender-infused air all around the inside of the towel and closes his eyes. He can hear SkekEkt clattering around the room but the sounds fade into the distance. It actually is quite a nice experience. He begins to fall asleep and then SkekEkt's hand are roughly scrubbing the towel all over his face making him struggle and splutter,  
"Get off!"  
"You're filthy!" SkekEkt chides, "strip off and wash yourself then I'll start."  
SkekVar grumbles but does as he's told wiping himself down with the lavender water,  
"You're going to be stuck in bed for a while so you'll have to get used to this."  
"I'd just rather you weren't here." SkekVar grumbles,  
"Oh, tsch. Who would bring you nice stinky water? How many times have I helped SkekAyuk when he's been stuck in bed with his gout? I've seen it all. You've got nothing that can impress me."  
SkekVar dries himself and SkekEkt brings over another bowl,  
"Lie back."

It's been a long time since anyone has done anything nice for SkekVar without expecting anything in return. SkekEkt spreads a warm, scented cream over his face and massages him, kneading the muscles of his face with his sharp bony fingers. SkekEkt talks to him, rattling off inane squawking comments on this and that topic that SkekVar has no interest in. At some point, he falls asleep to the sound of SkekEkt's voice.

When he wakes up it's slowly, snorting himself out of his sleep. SkekEkt is fussing about tidying SkekVar's things, which he'd scattered haphazardly around the floor and shelves,  
"I've massaged your face, powdered you, and cleaned and oiled your hair. Plus I brushed your teeth. Which was disgusting. You're welcome."  
"Thank you." SkekVar rumbles.  
SkekEkt looks at him over his shoulder,  
"Why do you think SkekGra did what he did?"  
SkekVar squints, still groggy from his sleep,  
"What?"  
"I can't imagine anything worse than rejoining with my Urru, I'd rather die."  
SkekVar snorts,  
"That was a long time ago."  
"It was," SkekEkt says, "and yet it's still here. In the air. Can't you feel it? It hangs all over the castle."  
"I don't know what you mean."  
"Oh, never mind me!" SkekEkt squawks, throwing his head back with a laugh, "I'm full of silly thoughts!"   
SkekVar frowns but says nothing,  
"Have a little nap, General, and eat your eggys. They're still good even if they're cold."  
SkekEkt opens the door and props it open with one foot as he gathers his stuff up in a bundle in his arms,  
"Bye-bye, darling."  
SkekVar opens his mouth to thank him but the words freeze in his throat and he just watches him leave in silence. SkekVar looks down at his tray in silence. Then he picks up the blue egg and pops it in his mouth, shell and all.


	30. Not Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking I should do something special to mark chapter 30 but nevermind. Here's the final part of SkekVar dying 'cause he nutted too much

SkekVar shudders as the Emperor's hand slides up and down the length of his cocks, smearing the black shafts with a mix of precum and spit,  
"There, there, General, enjoy yourself." The Emperor purrs, "Did you think I had forgotten you? Alone in your room."   
SkekVar gasps, hips rolling as SkekSo's palm grinds over his purple flushed heads. His cocks throb and he presses himself back into the mattress to try and stop himself from thrusting madly into the Emperor's hand.  
"Oh, General," he purrs, "you must have been so lonely. Have you been stroking yourself thinking of me? Hoping I would come back to you?"  
To stop SkekVar from coming too quickly he releases two of his cocks and takes each of them in turn in his hand, stroking and petting them. Rubbing under the heads, massaging the knobbled shafts, swiping the droplets of precum that bead on his tips with the pad of his thumb and stroking them down the thick shafts. SkekVar pants open-mouthed, eyes rolled back, chest heaving, thighs twitching.  
"Oh, General," the Emperor purrs, "I do like your cocks. Soft, and thick, and hard, and so polite: standing to attention just for me. Should I give them a little kiss, General? To show my gratitude?"  
"Please!" SkekVar whimpers, hands knotted in the bedsheets, "Please! Please!"  
The Emperor leans down and flicks his tongue over SkekVar's dribbling heads. The General's thigh muscles clench and he shudders, panting harder and faster,  
"Such handsome cocks," the Emperor purrs, taking all three in his hand again and stroking them with long rhythmic strokes, "I do love playing with them but I think they'd like to come, wouldn't they, General?"  
"Yes!" He gasps, "Yes! Ah, yes!"  
"Well," the Emperor purrs, leaning done to lather and swirl his long, powerful tongue over SkekVar's heads and shafts, "I think they've earned it."  
SkekVar comes, gasping and shuddering, his thighs trembling as he spills over the Emperor's fist. 

The Emperor licks the cum from his heads and shafts and then from his own hand, expression languid and amused. SkekVar lies flopped on the bed, eyes closed, tongue lolling from his open mouth, his chest heaving. When he's able he cracks his eyes open and looks at his master. His master is watching him.   
"I thought," SkekVar says, voice roughened by his orgasm, "I thought you didn't want me, sire."  
"Didn't want you, General?" The Emperor tuts, "Don't be so maudlin."  
SkekVar swallows and looks down at where his Emperor's dress is tented,  
"Sire," he says, swallowing heavily, "may I?"  
The Emperor raises one brow,  
"Do you think that's wise, General? You are forbidden from strenuous activity."  
"Please, sire."  
The Emperor hums,  
"I did not make you cum, General, in order to have you in my debt. The Emperor does what he does because he wishes it."  
SkekVar smiles, soft and gentle,  
"Please, sire."  
The Emperor sighs,  
"Very well, but if you are unwell I will be very angry with you."

He climbs onto his knees on the bed and hoists up his dress, exposing his slender, sticky cocks. SkekVar places his hands on the Emperor's hips and draws him in closer until he can take his cocks into his mouth. He groans and the Emperor groans with him, resting one hand on the headboard and the other on top of SkekVar's head. The General begins to bob his head, drawing his master's lengths in and out of his mouth, curling and squeezing his tongue, lapping and flicking. The Emperor groans,  
"Oh, yes. Have you missed the taste of your Emperor's cocks, General?" 

SkekVar moans around him and SkekSo's toes curl as the vibrations travel all the way through him. SkekSo digs his claws into the headboard as he begins to thrust, gently, into the General's mouth. Oh, yes, SkekVar knows just what he likes and just how to give it to him. No one can suck the Emperor's cocks like SkekVar; no one has had hundreds of years of training. SkekSo can feel his cocks twitching, he doesn't want to come yet but he also wants to come so badly. He can hear himself panting, can feel himself scratching his claws through SkekVar's hair, clinging to him, pushing him against him so he can press deeper down his hot tight throat. SkekVar's beak is pressing into his stomach, his throat clenching and unclenching around the Emperor's cocks, his muscular tongue squeezing and stroking and squeezing- the Emperor gasps,  
"Oh, yes!" and comes, shaking and clinging to the headboard, head thrown back. He's needed this so badly. Missed it. Fantasised about it. How has he lived without it all these weeks?

His thighs give out and he sits back on his calves gasping. SkekVar caresses his thighs, his bared stomach, gently pets and worships his cocks. SkekSo groans, eyes fluttering open.  
"Well done," he pants, "good soldier."  
"Thank you, sire." SkekVar sighs, smiling lopsidedly at him. Eyes soft and warm. The Emperor pats his cheek,  
"You've passed your first test, General. We'll have you back to normal in no time."


	31. Prerogative

SkekSo slashes three great gashes out of SkekVar's chest leaving him with bleeding flaps of skin. The General roars furiously, grabs him in a bear hug and flings him onto the bed, leaping on after him snarling and thrashing his tail. They screech and hiss, flicking their spines, fur bristling, as they struggle. Their teeth and talons are drenched in blood, their tongues heavy with its coppery taste. SkekVar catches the Emperor with a powerful crack across the jaw and then freezes, leans down and whispers,  
"Are you alright, sire?"  
"Yes, yes!" The Emperor hisses, "I told you: subdue me. If I want you to stop I'll say the word."

SkekVar snorts and dips his head and when he lifts it he's snarling and spitting blood. He grabs the Emperor's wrists as the Emperor struggles and pins him to the bed. The Emperor's feet come up to claw at his fatty sides, his dirty toenails scraping off skin. SkekVar wrestles with him until he has the Emperor's legs pinned. With only his head and secondary hands free SkekSo makes a ferocious job of biting and tearing but SkekVar ignores him. Ignores the blood and pain, lets the Emperor bury his ragged teeth in SkekVar's shoulder as SkekVar focuses on burying his cocks in the Emperor. His lengths push into the Emperor's hole, unrelenting, and the Emperor throws back his head and roars, tail thrashing. SkekVar wraps his own muscular tail around it and traps even that. He bites down on the Emperor's shoulder and thrusts into him furiously as the Emperor struggles to free himself. 

They thrust and fight and soon their hissing and snarling blends into grunts and groans. The Emperor rocks himself back on SkekVar's cocks, panting and gasping,  
"Roll me over!" He cries, and SkekVar unpins him and throws him over onto his stomach. He hoists the Emperor's arse up into the air and presses down on his spine to arch his back. The Emperor squawks with satisfaction as SkekVar snaps his hips,  
"Pin me!" He gasps.   
SkekVar presses his weight down on him, pins his wrists to the mattress, bites down on the Emperor's boney shoulder,  
"No," the Emperor groans, "my neck!"  
SkekVar's eyes widen. He pauses. Then he obeys but cautiously. Gently he takes the Emperor's thin, fragile neck in between his teeth.   
"Harder!" The Emperor groans, "Hurt me."

They thrust together furiously, rutting like animals. SkekVar drooling a mixture of spit and blood over the Emperor's neck. His teeth, razor-sharp, dig in and break the soft, thin, wrinkled skin. The Emperor yells with pleasure, roars and snarls, fucking himself on SkekVar's cocks. He strokes himself with quick and merciless pumps of his fist. He cries out,  
"Cum in me, yes! Yes!"   
The room shivers with their screams. 

The Emperor's eyes roll back in his head. He spills over his own hand, brought to the edge by the feeling of the General's hot hard cocks twitching and spurting inside of him. Filling him up with his hot sticky fluids. Feeling SkekVar come inside of him is almost as good as coming himself. Almost. He flops against the mattress, drooling. SkekVar stays hunched over him, teeth around his neck as he rolls his hips with the aftershocks of his orgasm, dragging it out with slow strokes of his oversensitive cocks. He'd spend every day of eternity inside of the Emperor if he could. The Emperor shudders beneath him, groaning and purring. Finally, SkekVar pulls out and rolls over, lying on his back like an upturned beetle. 

They lie, wheezing together, their eyes half-lidded. Exhausted. Satisfied. The Emperor begins to doze-

-he jerks awake.

What has he done?  
Why did he do that?  
What was he thinking!  
To let another Skeksis pin you by your neck like an animal was… madness! Tantamount to asking them for a Gelfling marriage ceremony! No doubt now the General thought he wanted to try and breed him, would come to him expecting the structures and benefits of a relationship. This was disastrous. Simply disastrous. The end of their agreement. They could not possibly continue with this hanging over them. What had he been thinking? Foolish! Stupid! It was simple: he'd been thinking with his cocks. Irresponsible! He had grown too comfortable and lax with the General. Just because being pinned and bred like some sort of dirty, wild, whore beast had made him cum his brains out didn't mean he should do it! … and... he definitely shouldn't do it... again. 

He licks the drool from his beak. He's dribbled all over himself. Dribbled all over his pillow… come all over the bedsheets. Now SkekVar's fluids are seeping out of his hole… the thought makes his cocks twitch. He grimaces. He would have to end their agreement quickly and remove SkekVar so that he might clean himself up and rid himself of temptation (of weakness).  
"General," he begins, voice wheezing but stern, as he rolls over. The General is asleep: lying on his back with his tongue lolling out. Gormless fat lump. SkekSo's eyes trail down his body. He licks his beak. Then he sighs and flops down on the bed.  
Thank Thra.   
He is desperately horny and doesn't want to end their relationship. It is a nightmare trying to find someone else to fuck. Skeksis always have to bring their agendas into it. Skeksis always bring their agendas into everything. All he wants is a nice hard hole pounding and to be stuffed to the brim with cum. That shouldn't have to be difficult. 

He rolls over and lies comfortable and looking at the General, eyes half-lidded. Purring and flicking the tip of his tail, he luxuriates in the post-orgasmic glow. When he was younger he thought control was an active process. You had to dominate to control: hurt, violate, manipulate. Now, he knows better. Real control is a passive activity. SkekVar, powerful SkekVar with a jaw like a trap and teeth like knives, could have snapped his neck in an instant but he didn't. And why? Because the Emperor has control. Is in control, always, even pinned to the mattress with his hole in the air. That is power. True power. To have control even at your most vulnerable. The Emperor smiles. He had panicked before but now he sees that is foolish, he can indulge himself all he likes. He scratches a claw down SkekVar's chest, pinches his nipple. The General snorts awake, looking to him blearily, and SkekSo leans over and kisses him. The General's tail beats the bed and SkekSo purrs into his mouth. Yes, he can indulge himself as much as he likes. Emperor's prerogative.


	32. After Dinner Treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes before SkekVar's heart attack. The Emperor is irresponsible but not that irresponsible.

SkekVar pauses in tearing the meat off of a bone, wrinkles his beak and snorts. He cannot concentrate and eat at the same time and he is having to think hard. The Emperor's claws are scratching a delicate trail up the inside of his thigh. This must be some kind of test, SkekVar thinks. A test of his will perhaps. The Emperor is seeing if SkekVar has the self-control to maintain his decorum whilst the Emperor gets him hard at the dinner table. The bone he is eating from has covered his hands in grease and the glossy, viscous liquid drips from the meat and stains the lap of his dress. The Emperor's fingers stroke a circle around his cloacal hole and SkekVar springs out erect. He swallows heavily, glances out the corner of his eye at the Emperor. The Emperor has his beak in a bowl of soup and is drinking delicately. 

SkekVar slaps his tongue against the roof of his mouth as the Emperor's knuckles graze the shaft of his lowest cock. He shoves the meat bone back into his mouth and tears at it voraciously. He will not fail in this task. He will show the Emperor that he is stronger than his base instincts. If that is what the Emperor wants from him… he's not sure. The Emperor's hand wraps around the base of his cocks and squeezes. Drags up, slides down. SkekVar chokes on his meat but continues eating, mouth sticky with grease. The Emperor's palm grows sticky with precum. SkekVar finishes the meat and sucks the grease off of the bone and then from his fingers. The Emperor watches him from the corner of his eye and then takes a long drink of his wine. 

SkekVar moves onto his next course, a bowl of wriggling dark worms. He shoves a handful of them into his mouth and tries not to choke as the Emperor pumps his cocks. He's sweating under his robes and his helmet, his tail is twitching, his toes are scratching the floor. Why is the Emperor doing this to him? He wonders. It is torture. Humiliation. Perhaps it is a punishment? No. He hasn't done anything wrong. Has he? The only thing he knows for certain is that if the Emperor keeps pumping him he's going to come. Perhaps that is what the Emperor wants?

SkekVar chews on the worms. Their crunchy bodies pop wetly in his mouth as they wriggle. Long black tubes full of goo that spurt over his tongue as he presses them against the roof. The Emperor rubs his fingers over SkekVar's sticky heads and the General buries his face in a bowl of soup to stifle a groan. It is agony. The Emperor is merciless. The Emperor is going to make him come all over his robes. He's dribbling all over himself, wine and precum. He is beginning to lose control of his breathing. So far the other Skeksis have been too absorbed in their own eating to notice him but if he loses control… he could not bear it. He could never live it down. The shame and fear only make his cocks twitch. His thighs are trembling. He's so close- he's so close! 

The Emperor's hand recedes from his skirts and slides back up onto the table. SkekVar watches wide-eyed and disbelieving as he lifts his long, delicate, taloned fingers to his mouth and laps the precum from each one before licking his palm clean. SkekVar swallows. Why? Why? He thinks. His cocks are aching and desperate. Has he succeeded? He doesn't feel as though he's succeeded. The Emperor is ignoring him, continuing with his meal. SkekVar stares at his food, he has lost his appetite. All he can think about is the painful throbbing off his cocks and the sensation of his robes rubbing on his oversensitive heads. His thighs quiver. His head hurts he is thinking so hard. He cannot understand. The Emperor is giving him nothing. He eats numbly for lack of anything to do and then the dinner is over and the Emperor is dismissing them,  
"Come with me, General." He purrs, rising from his seat and heading for the hallway, "I wish to speak with you."  
SkekVar follows. 

The Emperor leads him to his bedroom and closes the door behind them. SkekVar knots his hands in his robes. Normally he would take this as a clear sign but the Emperor's games at dinner have confused him. The Emperor stands beside the bed, says,  
"Undress."  
SkekVar undresses. His armour clanking heavy to the floor, then his robes, quieter, piling over it. He stands nude, still too nervous to be aroused. The Emperor stares at him,   
"You have been teasing me, General." He says, "Get on the bed. Cuff yourself."  
This SkekVar understands and as climbs on the bed and begins to cuff his ankles his cocks spring out hot, hard and eager. He lies back, stretching himself out and cuffs one wrist and then waits for the Emperor to cuff the other. The Emperor has been retrieving something from the 'special box' where he keeps all of the tools they use for their games. When he returns to the side of the bed, he cuffs SkekVar's free hand and then holds up a gag, a leather strap with a metal ring, and then drops the cock-clamp down with a thump on the bed   
"All throughout dinner you have been tormenting me, General. You've been nothing but a nasty little tease."  
"Sire," SkekVar says, "I have not-forgi-"  
The Emperor cuts him off by forcing the gag into his mouth. SkekVar pokes his tongue through the ring obediently and lets the Emperor tie it behind his head. He stares up at his master helplessly, spit already starting to pool in his mouth making him swallow heavily.  
"General," the Emperor purrs, "My naughty, teasing General."  
He scratches one claw down SkekVar's stomach,  
"How am I supposed to enjoy my dinner with you behaving like such a nasty little slut?"  
SkekVar moans around the gag pitifully, innocent of any crime. The Emperor presses the tip of his finger against the head of one of SkekVar's cocks, pushing it against the hole,   
"Nasty," he hisses, "naughty, teasing," he clasps SkekVar's cocks in his hand, squeezes hard, "little slut!"  
SkekVar groans, hips thrusting into the Emperor's hand. The Emperor releases him but only to punish him further by putting the cock-clamp on him. It's two pieces of metal that lock together around the base of his cocks and crush them. The Emperor twists the mechanism to make sure they squeeze extra tight. SkekVar whimpers, kicking his legs in protest and then moans when the Emperor takes his cocks in hand again and begins to stroke them. He whimpers and wriggles  
"Slut for my cocks, General?" The Emperor pants,  
SkekVar nods enthusiastically,  
"Slut for my holes?"  
SkekVar gasps and groans, writhing,  
"For my hands, General? For my mouth?"  
SkekVar cries out around the gag, drooling and choking on it,  
"Good boy." The Emperor purrs and twists his wrist. SkekVar groans and whimpers as the Emperor releases him leaving him hard and dribbling precum. He can't come with the clamp on but he wants to so badly. His hips roll, uselessly slapping his sticky cocks against his own stomach. He whimpers and whines. Looking pitifully to his master for mercy, he finds none. Never does. It just makes him harder.  
"General," the Emperor pants, "General, look at you. You still haven't learnt your lesson. There you are teasing me, making me hard. Distracting me."   
He flicks his long flexible tongue over his teeth and SkekVar's cocks throb at the sight. His eyes flutter closed as he pictures that tongue on his cocks and then snaps open as the Emperor flicks his heads,  
"You're an impudent little Skeksis," the Emperor pants, "and I'm not going to give you what you want, oh no, but I am going to be satisfied."

The Emperor crawls up onto the bed. He kneels between SkekVar's spread, cuffed legs and strips slowly. Let's SkekVar watch him, let's him pump his hips fruitlessly, let's him whine and whimper with arousal. When the Emperor is naked he sits down and spreads his legs. SkekVar has a perfect view of the Emperor's cocks and hole. He groans, dribbling over himself and splashing his chest with spit. The Emperor chuckles,  
"Oh, yes, General. I'm not going to let you get away with just teasing me."  
SkekVar is not sure what he expects but he doesn't expect the Emperor to wrap his hand around SkekVar's tail and then penetrate himself with it. 

SkekVar groans in a mixture of disbelief and thwarted desire as he feels the Emperor's tight, wet, warm hole stretching and clenching around his tail. He can feel it but he can't get any satisfaction. He needs the Emperor's hole around his cocks, needs it so badly. He fucks the air, snarling and then surrenders focussing on the Emperor's delicious hole squeezing around his tail. 

The Emperor fucks himself with SkekVar's tail, pumping it inside of his hole. He spreads his knees, digs his talon-toenails into the mattress, throws his head back,  
"Yes!" He pants, "Oh, yes! So thick, General."  
He stretches himself, penetrating himself deeper, groans at the rough and knobbled texture of SkekVar's skin. SkekVar whimpers, he is almost in tears. He can smell the Emperor, can feel how hot and tight and wet he is, can watch his own tail pump in and out of the hole he worships. It gets too much and he snarls and bucks his hips slapping his cocks against his stomach loudly in frustration. The Emperor is panting, his voice growing to a whine and SkekVar can tell by the way his hole is spasming and clenching that he's going to come. SkekVar whimpers and lifts his head up to watch. The Emperor throws his head back, tongue lolling, his thighs quiver, he spasms, SkekVar feels him clench, then he comes spilling over himself and squirting over the bed. SkekVar groans with him.   
"General," the Emperor pants, "General," his head falling forward to rest on his chest as he fucks himself through his orgasm, "Oh yes. Oh, General." He lets out a noise like a death rasp and lets SkekVar's tail slide out of his stretched hole. His legs tremble,  
"Mmm, General." He purrs, "I deserved that."  
SkekVar groans in agreement.

He aches to come. The Emperor is so beautiful. He is so beautiful when he comes. He is like a work of art. SkekVar would watch him come every moment of every day if he could. He struggles to have an imagination and if he could conjure up just one image it would be that. The Emperor is so beautiful. He is like magic. Only the Crystal could have made him, nothing so incredible could have been born.

SkekVar slaps his cocks against his stomach and the Emperor chuckles,  
"Eager to get my attention?"  
SkekVar groans,  
"Not yet, General. If at all." He purrs and then he climbs off the bed on shaky legs. SkekVar watches the Emperor's juices sliding down the inside of the Emperor's thighs and his cocks jump, he drools imagining licking it off. The Emperor bends over the box and SkekVar's breath catches in his throat. When the Emperor turns around he is holding a small cattleprod. He waggles it, smiling. SkekVar swallows, sweat beading on his brow. The Emperor crawls back onto the bed and traces the two prongs up the inside of SkekVar's thigh,  
"I'm not done punishing you yet, General." He purrs, "How can I stop punishing when you keep committing the crime?"  
SkekVar groans his innocence. The Emperor walks his fingers up the General's thigh, grasps his cocks and angles them down so he can swirl his tongue over the heads. SkekVar moans,  
"I keep punishing you, General, because you keep being naughty. Here I am trying to do my duties and there you are with those big, delicious cocks," he swirls his tongue over the heads again and squeezes, "how am I supposed to resist?"   
SkekVar shudders and lifts his hips to try and follow the Emperor's tongue. The Emperor chuckles,  
"Naughty boy, naughty naughty boy."  
He leans back and jabs the prongs into SkekVar's thigh, electrocuting him. The General spasms, clenching his teeth around the gag. He roars as his thigh muscles burn. The Emperor draws back, grinning, and then jabs the prongs into his other thigh. SkekVar spasms again, jerking his cuffs. The chains clank together as he thrashes on the bed, fighting the pain and his bonds. The Emperor draws away then jabs into his stomach making him bellow as his stomach muscles clench and unclench violently. They repeat this process, leaving the General's body dirty with burns and weak.

Eventually, he collapses onto the bed, the will to fight lost. The Emperor leans over his cocks and takes them in his mouth licking and squeezing and lathing over the lengths. The General lies still and lets him. His eyes are wet with tears, his cheeks and jaw soaked with spit. His body aches and burns with the residual heat. All of his consciousness singles down to the warmth and wetness of the Emperor's mouth. It feels so good, it is bliss. The stroking, the squeezing. Even his cocks hurt, the clamp crushing them and stopping him from being able to come. He can't even think about coming. The Emperor pulls his mouth off of him,  
"You've been so good," he whispers and SkekVar grunts in reply, "You've been such a good boy."   
The Emperor takes SkekVar's cocks down the back of his throat and sucks and licks them until the General is panting. He pulls his mouth off of him, just licking up the lengths,  
"Such a good boy," he whispers, "my good soldier, my loyal General."  
SkekVar sighs.  
"My handsome General." He licks, "my pretty soldier. Such lovely cocks." He laps, "so big and strong."  
SkekVar's whole body shudders.   
"Do you like to serve me?"  
SkekVar groans. The Emperor swallows him down, bobs his head and then slides off of him to lick again, stroking him with his hand,  
"Do you love to serve me?"  
SkekVar groans louder.   
The Emperor releases him, climbs over him to sit on his ribs.   
"Here," the Emperor says, lifting his tail and wiggling his hole, "You like this don't you?"  
SkekVar lifts his head to stare into it and groans,  
"You can look," the Emperor purrs, "You've earned it."  
Then he leans down and takes SkekVar's cocks in his mouth, squeezing and lapping and swallowing enthusiastically, bobbing his head, doing everything he can to make SkekVar come. SkekVar cannot come but he yells desperately to, wants to so badly. His chest heaves, he thrashes in his bonds, he thrusts into the Emperor's mouth. He bellows around the gag. The Emperor grins around his cocks, then takes the clamp and releases it. SkekVar roars. It's a wall trembling roar that shakes dust from the candle holders and echoes down the corridor. He shoots down SkekSo's throat forcefully and the Emperor swallows him down, dribbling some over his pumping hand. 

When the General's hips finally still, SkekSo grins, chuckling, and sits up.  
"I think you liked that, didn't you, General?" He purrs.  
He looks over his shoulder. SkekVar has passed out. The Emperor frowns, then he sighs as SkekVar begins to snore. He looks down at SkekVar's cocks and he pets them affectionately then pets his thighs,  
"I suppose I am too good for my own good." he sighs.  
He dismounts, removes the gag and uncuffs him. Then he goes into the bathroom and cleans himself up. He climbs back onto the bed and crawls up to cuddle against the General's sweaty, unconscious body. He traces a finger over one pectoral and considers the General's face, then he leans forward and licks the saliva and tears from his face.   
"Good boy," he whispers, presses a kiss to his mouth, "my loyal General." Presses another kiss to his cheek, "Beloved slave."


	33. Three is Still a Lonely Number

SkekVar feels comfortable in the Emperor's rooms now. He knows what's expected of him and what's to expect. He's never been shy of the fact that he likes order, likes control, direction and he's not shy when the Emperor gives it to him. The Emperor stands by the bed and SkekVar, knowing his duties, begins to remove his robes,  
"Not yet, Ambassador!" The Emperor says, smiling, "we are waiting on our guest!"  
SkekVar freezes. Guest? He scowls, squinting his eyes in a silent question. There is a knock on the door and the Emperor calls them to enter. He turns to SkekVar and smiles,  
"Ah, he arrives!"

The door opens and the Spymaster SkekUng steps in. His bushy brows are scrunched down and hands loosely clenched at his sides. He double-takes and then stares at SkekVar, who is gaping at him, and laughs. It's half friendly and half mocking. SkekVar snarls, spines bristling, fists clenched.  
"What are the chances of seeing you here?" SkekUng says, still chuckling.  
"Get out!" SkekVar barks and SkekUng bristles and curls up his lips to show his teeth.  
"Shut up!" The Emperor snaps, "both of you! I decide who enters my room and who enters me, Ambassador. Spymaster, hurry up and lock the door."  
SkekVar's stomach drops,   
"Sire," he says, "sire, please- do I not satisfy you?"  
"Satisfy me?" The Emperor scoffs, "If you wish to satisfy me, Ambassador, you will do as you're told. And that goes for you too, Spymaster. You are both here to obey. What do good Skeksis do, gentlemen?"  
SkekUng glances to SkekVar. SkekVar looks back at him, glowering. Both of their tails dust the floor.  
"Obey." SkekUng says.  
"Ambassador?" The Emperor croons, turning to SkekVar expectantly.   
SkekVar's fists tremble. He stares the Emperor down for a fraction of a second, then he snorts and bows sharply,  
"Obey."  
"Good boys. Now take your clothes off."

SkekUng grimaces. He's been naked in front of SkekVar before, all of the Skeksis have seen each other naked but… this is different. Now they're getting naked to get hard in front of each other. He's not sure if he can. He feels like a third wheel. How is this even going to work? He pauses with his robes halfway over his head,  
"Sire?"  
"Yes, Spymaster?"  
"How is this… what are we going to do?"   
The Emperor blinks slowly at him, expression blank,  
"What do you think we're going to do?"  
SkekUng's mouth grows dry. He looks to SkekVar, who is glowering at him fiercely, then to the Emperor. Maybe they'd take the Emperor at both ends but… then who would be fucking his mouth? He can't imagine him allowing either of them to do such a thing. So maybe they're both sharing but how will he fit all six in him? 

SkekVar gives a loud snort and the Emperor turns to him, smiling placidly,  
"You wish to answer for him, Ambassador?"  
"Yes, sire."  
"And?"  
SkekVar bows,  
"We'll do whatever you want, sire."  
The Emperor throws back his head and laughs,  
"Take a note, Spymaster. Now hurry up, both of you and get on the bed. My patience grows thin. And no bickering, sex toys don't talk. If I wanted conversation, I would have invited the castle's more intelligent Skeksis."

SkekUng bristles at that but bites his tongue. He's not stupid. It's quite apparent to him now that he's here as part of a joke. Some kind of cruel trick the Emperor is playing on SkekVar. He doesn't like it. It bruises his pride to be used. But, it might garner him favour (and he has no way to get out if the situation) so although it makes him angry he remains silent and climbs onto the bed.

SkekVar climbs on beside him and they lay stretched out side by side, not touching and not looking at each other. At least not in the eye. SkekUng can feel SkekVar glancing at him, no doubt sizing him up. Comparing the two of them. Wondering what SkekUng has that SkekVar cannot offer. Neither of them is out yet so they can't compare sizes. Physically, SkekVar is the bulkier of the two of them but SkekUng has a rugged hairiness to him that many of the Castle's skinny, pretty little Skeksis seem to like. 

The Emperor stands at the end of the bed and disrobes slowly. SkekUng and SkekVar quickly forget all about each other as they watch layer after layer drop to the floor in a heap. When he's done he stands naked and erect in front of them, grinning. Then he places one foot on the bed and rolls his hips forward so they can glimpse his hole. They both bounce out of their sheaths. The Emperor chuckles and crawls up onto the bed. On his knees, he takes them in each hand and begins to stroke them. 

SkekVar is thick, black and glossy, his three shafts meeting in a bulging knobbled root. SkekUng is slimmer but more curved, his brass coloured shafts ridged, his root slightly hairy and, most impressively of all, barbed. The Emperor grins. Well, isn't this going to be an interesting little experiment? Though he has to admit, now he has both of them in his hands he is starting to wonder how they'll fit. He'd perhaps underestimated their combined size...his eyes may turn out to be bigger than his belly. But then hadn't he always thought bigger is better?

He goes for what he knows best: climbs into SkekVar's lap and impales himself on the Ambassador's cocks. SkekVar groans but doesn't move. SkekSo begins to ride him and turns to look at SkekUng who is staring, laser-eyed.  
"Now, Spymaster, take a note from the Ambassador. See how still he remains? This is what I like. He is not taking his pleasure from me, I am taking my pleasure from him. When I mount you it will not be with the intent that I give you a good time. Do you understand?"  
SkekUng grunts, nods his head, says,  
"Yes." In a distracted fashion.  
The Emperor smirks and dismounts SkekVar. The Ambassador groans in complaint and the Emperor turns on his quickly hissing and whipping his tail. SkekVar falls silent. 

SkekUng can't take his eyes off of the fluids dripping down the Emperor's leg. The Emperor swings his leg over SkekUng's waist, takes the Spymaster's cocks in hand and sits down on him. SkekUng throws his head back and gasps. He can hear SkekVar snarling, poor cuckold, and feels a little sorry for him. If he had kept a hole like this to himself for years he wouldn't want to share it either. The Emperor begins bouncing on him. He snaps his hips up and the Emperor slashes three great gashes over his chest making him howl.  
"Still!" He barks, "or are you deaf? Are you deaf or stupid, Spymaster?"  
SkekUng clenches his teeth.  
"Are you deaf or stupid, Spymaster? Answer me!"  
"Stupid." SkekUng grinds out through his teeth.  
"At least you're not so stupid that you don't know it." The Emperor snarls, then he begins riding him again. 

SkekUng remains still this time. He glances at SkekVar out of the corner of his eye hoping for comradeship, but SkekVar is smirking nastily at him. Enjoying his pain and punishment. He scowls and looks back at the Emperor. Fine, he'll enjoy it then. To spite them both. He closes his eyes. Not that it'll be hard the Emperor's hole is… well it's definitely not SkekTek's that's for sure. He's never had a hole like it. The Emperor drags him in, squeezing and clenching around him. His cock is at the Emperor's service, his hole using it not being used. He is not penetrating the Emperor's hole, the hole is enveloping him. SkekUng never figured himself as someone who'd enjoy being subdued, being turned into a fuck toy, but here he is: panting and whimpering and struggling to hold himself still. Fighting his own spasming thighs and hips as the Emperor fucks himself with SkekUng's cocks. He can understand why SkekVar would enslave himself to this hole. It fucks you harder than any cocks can. The Emperor pulls off of him wetly,  
"Now, gentleman, get together." He says.

SkekUng and SkekVar look at each other, both wide-eyed and drooling over themselves, cocks throbbing and sticky with precum. They mutually grimace.  
"Together!" The Emperor snaps, stroking his cocks in his fist, "hurry up! Hole to hole!"  
SkekVar spreads his legs and they shuffle in until their legs are tangled together and their holes uncomfortably close. The Emperor swings his knee over and hovers over both sets of cocks. He grabs SkekUng and SkekVar's lowest members and squeezes them together then sits down on them. All three of them gasp.

SkekUng's cock is squeezed tightly between the Emperor's wet soft hole and SkekVar's throbbing cock. It feels… pretty good: the pulsing of SkekVar's cock against the underside of his own aching member.   
"Thrust!" The Emperor barks and they obey.  
SkekUng throws his head back and gasps- now this feels good! He's surprised by how the feeling of SkekVar's fat cock rubbing against his own is turning him on, but he's not going to complain. The combination of the Emperor's wet hole squeezing and SkekVar's slippery cock grinding against his own has him snarling and gasping.

The way the Emperor's moaning and bouncing on them makes it clear he feels the same. He reaches down one veiny hand and grabs their main cocks, lifts himself up and then buries all four members inside of himself, gasping as they stretch him. It hurts but pain… pain is wonderful. He pants,  
"Yes, yes!" As he fucks himself on them.  
SkekVar is behind him, hands possessively on the Emperor's hips, squeezing and scratching. SkekUng is in front of him, back arched, fat hairy stomach pushed out, grinning ferociously and drooling over himself. The Emperor leans back and purrs,  
"Kiss me," to SkekVar.  
SkekVar sits up, eager to obey. The Emperor had been betting on the Ambassador's jealousy and as always he's won his bet. SkekVar kisses him furiously, marking the Emperor's mouth out as his own. Licking every millimetre, slobbering over him. It's wonderful. The Emperor hooks a claw in SkekUng's chest hair and drags each other to sit. He's squeezed between both of their fat stomachs. Oh yes, this is living. He leans to the side a little,  
"Kiss each other." He purrs.  
SkekVar snorts, SkekUng snarls. They stare at each other. 

SkekUng wrinkles his beak in disgust and then, to his surprise, SkekVar lunges forward and kisses him. It's angry, a lot of teeth and a dominating tongue forcing its way into his mouth. He gags on it and draws away. 

The Emperor tuts and shakes his head,  
"Gentlemen, let me show you how it's done." He knots his hands in both of their black curly hair and pulls them in and kisses them. 

At some point, they lose track of whose tongue is whose. Long, slippery, muscular lengths stroking and squeezing each other, coating each other in saliva, dribbling over themselves. They're moaning, and even their moans meld into one as they cling to each other thrusting and licking and rocking their bodies.  
"Lovely." The Emperor purrs, and SkekVar snorts and draws back.  
SkekUng opens his eyes and almost laughs. The Emperor is grinning and watching them,  
"I do enjoy watching my two brutes be so enthusiastically affectionate."

SkekVar is flushed, feathers up, embarrassed that he's been tricked into so passionately kissing SkekUng. SkekUng grins, all teeth. He doesn't care, it felt good. Why fight pleasure? He leans in again and grabs SkekVar by his scruff, purrs,  
"Come here, brute."  
His beak nudges SkekVar's and then the Emperor is snarling and dragging him away by his neck,  
"Enough!" He snarls as he pushes SkekUng down onto his back.

The Emperor turns around so he's facing SkekVar, slaps his tail onto SkekUng's chest and stomach, grabs SkekVar's face and kisses him aggressively.

SkekUng sneers. The Emperor's tail is a dismissal. Stupid. His anger quenches. Funny, he thinks, how eager the Emperor is to kiss the Ambassador now he's seen someone else try to. SkekUng stifles a laugh, perhaps there's some jealousy from a quarter the Emperor hadn't expected. You ought to get your own house in order, SkekUng thinks. 

SkekVar is more than pleased to have the Emperor's attention back on him, kissing and groping him enthusiastically. Sloppily. The Emperor responds in kind. There's a little angry spark in him that he needs to fuck out and he fucks their cocks furiously. He sits up until just their heads stretch his hole and gasps,  
"I almost forgot." Then he grabs their third members and sits down on all six.  
He throws his head back and roars.   
It's painful.  
It's far too much.  
He has almost nine cocks inside of him: the root of his own three, and the six belonging to his two brutes. This is madness! Why did he think this was a good idea? 

SkekUng is snapping his hips mercilessly, the beast, unsympathetic to his pain, but SkekVar, blessed SkekVar, takes his Emperor's lengths in hand and caresses them. Runs his hands over the Emperor's shoulders, neck, face, chest, ribs, toys with his nipples. Nibbles his neck and throat, licks and kisses him. The Emperor's wheezing fades into moans. Soon the Emperor is rocking himself on them once more, his talons dug into SkekVar's arms drawing blood.   
SkekVar's strong hand squeezes the Emperor's cocks, strokes them, twists, palms the heads. The Emperor clings to him, groans as SkekVar licks his nipples. Rocks himself and bounces, his thighs trembling, and SkekVar's firm, steady hand, drags and drags over his lengths until the Emperor is spilling over his fist. 

SkekUng watches the Emperor tip his head back, feels him clench, or attempts to clench, around them and then hears him rasp out a long wild cry. He realises the Emperor is coming. He grins to himself, a job well done then. SkekVar is mumbling something to the Emperor SkekUng can't make it, staring up into the Emperor's face with starry eyes. Pathetic sop. SkekUng keeps thrusting, if he's going to be humiliated and used he's at least going to come. He does just that, groaning a deep chesty groan as his thighs tremble. He spurts deep inside the Emperor and all up SkekVar's shafts. When SkekUng's eyes flutter open the first thing he sees is SkekVar glowering at him. He grins in reply. What are you going to do about it? He thinks. Nothing.

The Emperor dismounts them both and SkekUng frowns. SkekVar hasn't come, he would have felt it. Without addressing them, the Emperor lays himself out on the bed, taking his time getting comfortable, fluffing his pillows and crossing his legs at the knee. He observes them both for a moment, looking at him dishevelled and utterly bewildered, then he gives a wry smile, flicks his wrist at SkekUng and says,  
"Leave."

SkekUng blinks at him.

The Emperor just stares back in expectant silence. After a moment SkekUng closes his mouth, climbs off the bed and pulls his clothes on in silence. His orgasm has faded, and what was left of it has been thrust away with one sweeping blow. No, worse, with a cursory flick of the wrist. He turns back to the Emperor, opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. He heads to the door, takes the door handle in hand and then gives one more glance to SkekVar, thinks: 'Good luck', and leaves. The door thunks closed behind him. 

The Emperor lies on his bed, an amused smile curling up his mouth, his eyes half-lidded with contentment. His tail flicks a little rhythm on the covers. SkekVar gapes at him in utter disbelief and confusion. He is still hard, his cocks dribbling and sticky with a mix of SkekUng's cum and his own precum. He sits propped up by one arm, hunched over his own fat stomach.  
"Did that anger you, Ambassador? Be honest, I command it."  
SkekVar snorts,  
"Yes, sire."  
"Good."  
"Good?"  
"Yes, good. I wanted to see you jealous, Ambassador. I wanted to see what you would do."  
SkekVar snorts again, looks down and seems to consider his own erections, brows drawn in thought. He looks up,  
"And did I pass, sire?  
"Pass, Ambassador?"  
"Your test."  
SkekSo smiles a genuine smile. It is such a rare thing and it sends a bloom of warmth through SkekVar that melts away any anger or resentment at a touch. He stares at the Emperor in utter adoration.  
"Yes, Ambassador," SkekSo purrs, "you passed quite well. In fact, I feel now that I should never have tested you at all. I think it was more my doubt than doubt in you, Ambassador."  
"No, sire," SkekVar says snorting and shaking his head, "you could not be wrong. You were right to test me."  
"I thought perhaps that you might become aggressive: try to claim me. Instead, when I was in pain you comforted me, assisted me. When SkekUng put aside my commands for his own pleasure, you pursued the fulfilment of my command without deviation. My command was that I was to be pleasured and you, Ambassador, never lost sight of that. You obeyed me completely."  
"Of course," SkekVar says, blinking stupidly. He cannot imagine a world in which he would not.

The Emperor spreads his legs and reaches out to him, beckoning to him,  
"Come, come. I wish to reward you, Ambassador. Now that wastrel SkekUng is gone. Better we have him out of the way."  
SkekVar crawls between his legs, smiling widely, and leans in as the Emperor purrs,  
"You may kiss me."  
They kiss and SkekSo wraps his arms around his Ambassador's neck and shoulders and draws him in until their bodies are pressed stomach to stomach, chest to chest. He purrs and grins his perpetually toothy smile as SkekVar begins to kiss and nibble his way down his neck.   
Loyalty is the only resource that cannot be bought or captured. If only SkekVar knew the value of what he offered. SkekSo chuckles to himself as SkekVar presses kisses down his chest and stomach. If he knew what value he had, the Emperor probably wouldn't be able to afford it. SkekSo rubs his hand over SkekVar's thinning hair and grins: thank the Crystal for SkekVar, with his big cocks and his very very small brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not happy with this one but fuck it, I don't want to leave y'all hanging


	34. Hurtling through Darkness...

It is with deeply mixed feelings that SkekVar follows his duty as Ambassador. But, the Emperor's commands are the Emperor's commands and so, despite his misgivings, he finds himself half walking half sliding down into the valley of the Mystics. He has not seen the cursed creatures, their hideous other halves, since… well, since a long time ago. Yet the sight of his opposite, tall and long haired and beige, appearing from one of the caves still sends a shiver of fear through him. He grunts and snorts, kicking up dust, and comes to a halt just as his other half reaches the bottom of the rock slope to meet him,  
"Greetings, Ambassador SkekVar." UrMa says, dipping his head in what is no doubt a mocking fashion.  
SkekVar wrinkles his beak and half-snarls. No, he is here on a… peaceful mission. He must play nice. He bows in return,  
"Mystic."  
"Please," UrMa replies, "we know each other well enough, use my name."  
That crosses a line,  
"We don't know each other at all!" SkekVar snarls.  
To infuriate him further, UrMa merely smiles and dips his head again.  
"What do you seek, here in the Valley of the Mystics?"  
"I," SkekVar pauses.  
This is the hard part. He will have to lie.  
"I am here in my duty as Ambassador on a mission of peace." He snorts, "To establish relations- to think about establishing relations between our two peoples."  
UrMa stares at him, expression placid, and he begins to sweat. The Mystic nods,  
"Let me take you to our master." He says. 

UrMa turns and, obnoxiously slowly, leads the way up the stone ramp. There is no excuse for a creature with such long legs to move so slowly, SkekVar thinks. It is an insult to all other walking creatures on Thra. To make it worse he's stuck behind the Urru for even longer because it turns out that the cave they are heading to is the furthest away from the valley's entrance.

"Master," UrMa calls as he lifts the beige curtain so that they can enter into the beige cave, "your visitor has arrived as expected."  
SkekVar thinks nothing of the title Master until the Urru waiting for them turns around.

SkekVar freezes.

It is an odd feeling. It is a horrid feeling. It sends a worming sensation all the way up his stomach and makes him feel sick. It makes his heart pound in his chest. 

The Urru master looks at him and it as though he is looking at him with SkekSo's eyes, and he smiles at him and it is as though he is smiling with SkekSo's mouth. But he is not. 

Master. SkekVar's heart beats: Master Master.

He trembles. He should never have agreed to this command but he has also never fled from a battle. He considers it, quivers beneath the Urru's piercing gaze that has him trapped like a crawlie beneath a pin, but he does not back down.   
"Welcome, Ambassador SkekVar," The Urru Master says, "You may call me UrSu or," he says, and he smiles- he smiles in that same half mocking way that the Emperor does when he is laughing at SkekVar's expense, "You may call me Master."  
SkekVar clenches his jaw, almost swallows his tongue.  
UrMa bows,  
"I will leave you, Master." He says and SkekVar cannot even tear his eyes away to watch him go.  
UrSu's eyes are gentle, the corner of his mouth is turned up in a smile. But his eyes are half-lidded and his smile is secretive and knowing. His look is mocking, his look is one of expectation, perhaps somewhere in there is also a grain of contempt. SkekVar trembles, feels himself grow weak and damp with sweat. It is an awful feeling, being attracted to such a horrid monster, and utterly degrading.   
"Come," UrSu says, beckoning to him with one crooked finger, "follow me. I was just making us ta."   
The Master turns away from him and free from the spell of the Urru, of SkekSo's, eyes, SkekVar snorts and blinks. Stunned. He looks to the curtain that hangs over the cave door,  
"Come." UrSu calls, voice gentle but firm.  
and SkekVar, despite his better judgement, obeys him.

The Urru Master leads him into another sand floored room and it is so similar to the previous one that he wonders what the point of their movement was. The Urru motions for him to sit on the floor and takes a kettle from a hot stone and pours them both out two ceramic mugs of boiling liquid,  
“Careful,” he says, placing them on the floor between them.  
The beige creature folds itself down to the ground slowly, seemingly prematurely aged by his own existence, and faces SkekVar across the minute distance of sand. He takes one finger and traces on the ground between them a circle,  
“Do you know what this is?” he says,  
“A circle.” SkekVar snorts, “I’m not stupid!”  
The Master looks up at him with ‘that’ look again: wry, and slightly mocking, and very knowing. SkekVar shivers and scowls to hide his reaction.  
“And this?” The Master says.  
Tracing his finger through the sand he circles, crosses and intercrosses the lines, never breaking them, always moving until he has formed a series of interconnected spirals and circles.  
SkekVar frowns at it,  
“I don’t know.”  
The Master smiles and nods at him,  
“It is the future.” he says, “Or many futures. Or one future.”  
He takes up his cup of tea and blows on it then sips it,  
“Just ready.” he says.  
SkekVar lifts up his own and sniffs it,  
“Smells like vegetables.” he grunts,  
“Yes.”  
“I don’t eat vegetables.”  
“Drink.” UrSu tells him.  
SkekVar drinks and wrinkles his beak at the taste but finishes it all.  
UrSu smiles approvingly and sips from his own.   
“Do you want to know your future, Ambassador SkekVar?”  
SkekVar draws back,  
“No.” he says gruffly.  
“I have looked at your future here.” The Master says, “I saw you in my future. All parts of the Song of Thra are linked but some tunes play together more closely than others. Ours has a questionable path.”  
“I don’t believe in it.” SkekVar snorts, “I believe in it, I just don’t put stock in it. The Song tells what I’ll do? If I do it because I want to or because I’m told to or because a song says I will, what’s the difference?”  
UrSu shrugs,  
“Then what’s the point in all this?” SkekVar snarls and he wipes his hand through the spirals, dashing them to dust.  
He stands up,  
“I do what the Emperor tells me! I do what I think is best! I don’t listen to any Song.”   
He flashes his spines but when the Urru is not impressed he loses confidence and snorts,  
“I’m going to hunt something to eat!”  
“UrAmaj can cook you a-”  
“I don’t want to eat any more vegetables!” he shouts and throws aside the curtain and leaves.  
UrSu exhales. With the slow brush of one hand, he flattens out the sand and begins to draw again. Circles, spirals, lines.

SkekVar storms back up the slope and into the trees. All the while he feels the eyes of his other burning into his back and he prickles under his gaze. He doesn’t want to waste time wandering around blindly looking for food, and he definitely doesn’t want to eat vegetables, so he heads back to a good fishing spot he found on his way there. The Emperor had wanted him to take a carriage to the Mystic’s Valley, but a journey on foot had appealed to SkekVar. In the end, they had compromised: the Emperor had ordered him to take the carriage and he had, for half of the journey, then he had got out and walked the rest of the way. The Emperor couldn’t tell him off until he got back and he had been ordered to stay at least a week so he had a week to figure out how to get himself out of trouble.

When he reaches the small lake he had found and fished at, he sits down on a rotted log by the side and stared into the water. After a moment or two, he snorts and rolls up his sleeve. He thrusts his arm into the water up to the elbow and wiggles one finger alluringly, and waits. The water was dark and deep, obscuring any swimming creatures. He would only know if he’d caught something when he felt it bite. Then he’d have to whip it up quickly before it could pry itself from his claw. Unfortunately, the waiting makes for thinking and thinking was SkekVar’s greatest enemy. 

Staring into the dark flat water he thought on the Emperor. He thought on himself. He thought, resentfully, on UrMa. He thought on UrSu. Those thoughts disturbed him so he tried to push them aside. He focussed on the fish, swimming blindly through the dark. Like Skeksis, moving blindly through their part of the Song. He snorts, what a stupid thought. The Mystics are already rubbing off on him.

That leads him down a different path, one that he nips in the bud quickly.

Something bites and he whips it up out of the water, curling his clawed finger like a hook. It's a big fish, meaty and muscular, with a long nasty mouth and beautiful scales. It thrashes and he grabs it in both hands and brings it up and bites a chunk out of it. The muscles glisten, the blood spills out and mixes with the slime. The fluids dribble from SkekVar's mouth and he wipes them on the back of his sleeve. The fish wriggles weakly then stills, gasping. He bites into it again, crunching bones and tearing muscle. Even the scales, which he has to pick out of his teeth with the bones shards, he swallows down. When there is no trace left he sucks the slime and blood from his fingers. Then he stands up and rolls the log over. Crawlies scuttle out. Big ones, fat ones, shelled ones, wriggling ones, leggy ones. He snatches them up without distinction and eats them by the palmful. Their juices too, black and green, he wipes on his sleeve. It's not much of a meal but he's tired of the still, melancholy water. 

The thought of returning to the Mystics sets his spines up but the Emperor has ordered him here.The Emperor has new plans. Plans for a war. Their first one after their initial birth had been a failed attempt, thwarted by the Mystics. If they are to have their war now the Emperor must know that the way is clear, so here is SkekVar, on a mission he personally feels he is entirely unsuited for: spying on the Mystics. He is a bad liar and he is even worse at keeping himself out of conflicts, what the Emperor expects from him he does not know but he hopes the expectations aren't high.

When he returns to the valley he finds a beige tent with a beige bed roll in it and he wrinkles his beak with contempt at it. No sumptuous sheets or soft duvets here. He catches sight of movement out of the corner of his eye and he shudders. Even though he saw only a flash of long hair he knows from the way his stomach trembles who it was watching him. He ducks into the tent to hide himself and falls asleep on the bristly bed roll.

He wakes in the morning groaning and reaching, half asleep, for his erections. As he grasps them he snorts himself fully awake and he's confused and bemused by what he's doing. He realises he has been dreaming. It's been centuries since he's dreamed, or maybe longer. He squeezes his eyes closed and scrunches his face up and tries to remember what he had been seeing. The Emperor he's sure, if he were to fantasize about anything it would be him. He begins to stroke himself slowly. Yes, the Emperor in his lap, with his hooded eyes and his mocking smile, and behind him, strong and pressed against SkekVar's back, another figure with hooded eyes and a private smile…  
He jumps up, jerks his hands away from his cocks. No! No! Foul brain! Filthy brain!   
He snarls.  
Evil Mystic magic putting nasty thoughts into his head!

He dresses himself quickly, full of frustration and even more irritated by the fact that his erections won't leave. His long, draping robes cover them and he takes himself outside and rubs his arms up to the elbow and face with sand, cleaning them.   
"We have water if you wish to bathe." The soft, high voice says and SkekVar shivers and shoots him a look over his shoulder,  
"I don't want to bathe."  
UrSu says,  
"You will find yourself more comfortable if you are more like water."  
SkekVar frowns,  
"Fluid and open to change?"  
"Wet." The Master replies, smiling, "It gets very hot and dusty here. You will find the sand itches."  
SkekVar scowls at him, but the Urru merely smiles and turns away from him walking slowly down the valley. 

SkekVar is utterly bored of the Mystics. They are planning NOTHING, they are doing NOTHING. All day long they sit and they stare and they think about NOTHING. He doesn't even manage a full day with them without breaking into a scream of frustration. He cannot stand their lazy, wilful moping. He storms into UrMa's cave and yells,  
"Why don't you people do anything!" And then storms out.   
UrMa stares at the empty door frame and then goes back to doing… nothing.   
It is a dusty, barren hell.  
"They're trying to break me," SkekVar says to himself as he stalks down the valley, "but they're underestimating how strong I am. I'm forged of steel."  
He snorts,  
"This is psychological warfare, but I live with SkekSil. My mind is iron, my will unbreakable."  
He stops and puffs out his chest, yells,  
"I am a beast! I am a soldier! I will not be broken!"   
One of the Mystics (they all look the same) pokes its head out of its cave and looks at him with a vague curiosity, then it loses interest. SkekVar wants to weep. These creatures contain the other half of the Skeksis very essence and they are… weaklings Pathetic. Boring. Apathetic. Pointless creatures. And yet he cannot kill them, as to kill them would be to kill the Skeksis. The Crystal is cruel to have done such a thing. 

Down the bottom of the valley he finds, to his surprise a grove of trees and beyond that a wet forest. There is a pool of water, and standing in it the UrRu Master.  
"What are you doing?" SkekVar snorts.  
The Master looks at him slowly, smiles and then goes back to his chore,  
"I am cleaning the Mystics robes."  
"Get somebody else to do that." SkekVar snorts, "You have peons. You're the Master. Why are you doing laundry?"   
"The duty of a Master is not to be above the duties of the pupils. We all need clean robes, whether we are at the beginnings or the ends of our journeys."  
"Then get someone else to do them!"  
"No."  
SkekVar blinks at him.  
The Master smiles, glances at him from the corner of his eye and continues dunking and scrubbing.  
SkekVar huffs, puffs out his chest, places his hands on his hips. He is ignored.  
"Why does it concern you," the Master says, "that I concern myself with the washing of dirty robes?"  
"Because you are the Empe-" SkekVar catches himself.  
The Master lifts his long, sad head up on his long, sad neck and considers him.  
"Come into the water." He says.  
"No, I'll get wet."  
"That is the consequence." The Master says, "of being in water."  
When he smiles his eyes crease at the corners.   
SkekVar resists him.  
"Come." The Master commands, voice gentle.   
SkekVar takes off his armour and trudges out into the water. The Master is some way out, and he ends up wading through water up to his waist, his heavy robes soaked and dragging.   
"This is stupid." He grouses as he stops in front of UrSu.  
"Look," the Master says, pointing.   
SkekVar looks at the water,  
"What?"  
"See what you have created."  
"Ripples."  
"Disturbances. Or movements. Changes. Circles, and spirals, and lines. In water we see the consequences of our existence."  
SkekVar blinks. The Master dunks the cloth,  
"And in the water I wash-off the consequences that existence has left on us: sand."  
SkekVar snorts, less sure if himself,  
"That's stupid."  
"There is no need to sit and meditate, when I can wash and meditate. That is what separates a student from a master."  
"How much washing he gets done."  
"Exactly."

SkekVar stands there like a fool, soaked through to the bone and watches the Master wash.   
"You are tormenting me." He says. The Master glances up at him from beneath heavy lidded eyes and smiles but says nothing.  
"You have brought me out here to torment me." SkekVar says again, voice quiet and gruff.  
"Have I?"  
"Yes," SkekVar grunts, "don't play stupid."  
"I have seen many futures with many things, you will have to give me further clues for me to figure out which this is."  
"Tell me what you Mystics plan," he grunts, "So I can leave this lifeless place. So I can get away from you."  
"I do not wish to disturb you, Ambassador," UrSu replies,  
"Well you do," SkekVar snaps, "and you know why."   
"Do I?"  
"Stop it!" SkekVar snarls, his spines rising, his fists clenched.  
"You assume," UrSu says, placid and unconcerned by SkekVar's implicit threats of violence, "that because I am knowledgeable that I am omniscient."  
"I want you!" SkekVar barks.  
UrSu looks up at him. Examines him, blinks. SkekVar bares his teeth, flashes his spines, flexes his arms, shudders.  
"Yes," UrSu says, "in some futures I saw the consequences of that."  
SkekVar deflates,  
"What consequences?"  
"I have told you already," he says, shaking his head.   
"That answer's not good enough!"   
"I have always thought," UrSu says, beginning again to wash the robes, "that of all the Skeksis you would make the best Mystic."  
SkekVar snarls,  
"How dare you!"  
"For a Mystics truth, their ultimate truth is that," he looks up at SkekVar and SkekVar's entire body shivers, "of service."  
"I don't know what you mean." He whispers.  
"I am more like my counterpart than I would like to admit." UrSu says, "that is another truth of all Mystics, but one we don't like to hear."  
"I can tell," SkekVar snorts, voice quiet "I could tell the moment I saw you."  
"You know him. You know me."  
"I could tell because you did what he does. You wanted to play with me. You played with me. You made up a game and got me to blindly dance to it. That's what you like."  
UrSu smiles, it's his knowing smile, his slightly mocking smile, but now it is a little sad also,  
"Yes." He says.  
"I could tell," SkekVar says, "that you want me."   
UrSu exhales, then looks at the cloth in the water.  
"You want me like the Emperor wants me. He thinks he hides it but I know him too well. I see him. I know he wants me when he starts his games with me, when he smiles at me and mocks me, when he looks at me with contempt. He does those things to hide. He wants to hide that he wants me. He wants me to think I have to earn his desire, but I don't have to- I want to. I have to earn my orgasm, but his desire I already have. He hides his desire from himself because he's frightened that his lust for me means that in some way I have mastered him."  
"And do I," UrSu says mildly, "fear being mastered by you, SkekVar?"  
SkekVar snorts,  
"You fear finding out you're not a master after all."  
UrSu smiles, genuinely smiles, and shakes his head,  
"The Master realises he is still the student when he is mastered by his own desires."  
"I want to fuck you." SkekVar says, "and you have to be strong enough to tell me 'no'. Or is that weakness? Running away from a battle because you fear the consequences both of winning and losing it?"  
"Mystics do not often choose to fight-"  
"We don't have to fight, I can be gentle."  
"-but when we do we usually win."  
SkekVar's brows shoot up. He snorts. UrSu shakes his head,  
"I spoke in haste. You must leave me to think. I must meditate on this."  
"Do not meditate!" SkekVar snarls, "All you people do is think! Act! Make a decision and act!"   
"That is not our way."  
"Act, damn you!" SkekVar roars, dashing the water with his fist.  
UrSu jumps as he watches the water explode, watches the fearful ripples and circles flee each other over the surface.  
"Leave me." He says.  
SkekVar scowls,  
"No."  
"I have given you my answer," the Master says, his voice firm, "you may leave me."  
SkekVar is not stupid. The 'may' means nothing. He resists, he fights, he obeys. Grumbling he wades back to the shore and clumps, dripping and dragging, back into the treeline heading for the valley. He does not look back. He is too proud to. He is too afraid to. 

UrSu looks at the water for a long time. Only when the last of the ripples fade away does he turn his face upwards and to the sky. There is a distant clash of thunder. It is going to rain. He is surrounded by water. What does it mean?

The feelings of SkekSo torment him. He knows them but he does not understand them. SkekVar is a simple being: he is a cup of water, clear, and contained, and a knowable measurable entity. SkekSo is like a deep and tormentous ocean, pitch black and roiling against the shore as though the very earth were a prison, as though the rocks are the only thing that keep it bound. Dark things, slow and sad and creeping predatory things live in the depths of SkekSo. They flit through UrSu's sight and fill him with dread. Once upon a time things were not so, but now a door has been opened and there is no going back. The creatures have spilled from their depths and made the ocean of SkekSo's subconscious their home. 

UrSu fears for SkekVar almost as much as SkekSo fears SkekVar. Almost as much as UrSu fears SkekVar, because SkekVar is right. He can understand now, the guileless appeal of the Ambassador. The seductive nature of total worship. He can understand how his other half fell so easily into tyranny through being so adored. UrSu has never desired the worship of the Gelfling but he can imagine himself giving into the worship of the Ambassador. He is not above the desire to be obeyed.  
"Help me, Thra," he says to the heaven's, "something old in me calls out for him. Something old in me calls out to go home."

SkekVar rolls through the camp, his walk an easy and rhythmic waddle. He seeks… something but he's not sure what, and he finds UrMa sowing seeds in the soil. The old creature, older seeming than his Skeksis counterpart, is crouched low to the ground, making holes with his fingers and pushing in one seed at a time. SkekVar stands over him, hands on his hips and glowers. He watches UrMa painstakingly bury each minute, white seed.  
"Just throw them down and stamp them in!" He snorts.  
"They all need," UrMa says slowly, "space and distance. If they are buried too deep they will die, if they are buried too shallow they will be harvested by the birds before they may flourish."  
SkekVar snorts.  
"All things require those two things to grow. Space and distance. But they require water too, and sustenance, and most importantly," he pushes the tiny seed into the soil and brushes the dusty loam over it, patting it down, "love."  
SkekVar snorts again. Beneath his robes his spines twitch and his tail flicks. The Urru makes his skin crawl.   
“You know,” UrMa says, a small smile on his face, “UrSu would greatly appreciate it if I were to have some help.”

SkekVar jams his claw into the dirt and jiggles it around, snorting furiously to himself. He struggles to pick up a little seed and drops it into the hole. It’s fiddly and frustrating work. He’s on his knees, his back is bent and aching. He and UrMa have got two and a half long lines of seeds sown and SkekVar sits back on his calves and looks at his work with a snort of satisfaction. UrMa is still bent over digging and sowing. The night creeps in slowly, staining the sky yellow, and then orange, and then blue, and finally black. By the time the light grows too dim to work, they have planted almost five rows of seeds. UrMa helps SkekVar to his feet,  
“UrAmaj has made a soup,” UrMa says, “You are willing to join us.”  
SkekVar wrinkles his beak,  
“Is it vegetables?”  
UrMa simply smiles.

SkekVar still does not like vegetables. The soup is thick and warming and hot with spices, so although it still has the bitter vegetable undertaste it is tolerable. Like the Skeksis, the Urru gather to eat, all hunched over and squashed into one warm, candle-lit room. It’s a bizarre experience, sitting is what is essentially an upholstered cave eating liquid vegetable out of a wooden bowl listening to the Urru moo to each other. The curtain lifts and UrSu ducks into the room. The Urru murmur in greeting, bobbing their heads but UrSu looks only at SkekVar, dips his head and smiles. SkekVar’s heart flutters and he swallows the feeling down, growing angry and shy simultaneously. When the Master sits besides his fellow Urru and begins to eat without complimenting SkekVar on his hard work SkekVar snorts, dashes his bowl to the ground and leaves. 

He stomps through the chill night and heads into his tent where he throws himself down onto his bedroll. It only takes him a few seconds before he begins to feel foolish but that just makes him angrier. He pictures the Emperor in his mind. He would be so disappointed if he knew of SkekVar’s weakness. If he knew of the degeneracy SkekVar is harbouring in his heart. Something moves outside of the tent and SkekVar stills, breath caught in his throat. He imagines UrSu lifting the flap of his tent, entering to thank him for his help. To privately reward him. Nothing happens. SkekVar snorts and pokes his head out: some small creature is rooting in the seed rows. He snarls and bursts from the tent roaring, scattering the little hopping beast to the winds. The night air chills him. He stands with his feet on the soil and stares down at the little white seeds in the moonlight. The creature has dug up two or three and eaten them, one it has left on the soil. He leans down and pinches it up between his claws, digs the little hole and pushes it in, swipes the soil over. He stands up and stares at it for a moment, snorts to himself, and then he leans down and gives the soil a little pat.

UrMa slides his palms up the inside of his Master’s calves, squeezes the hard muscles. UrSu spreads his knees and UrMa’s hands move up over his knees to massage his thighs.  
“I am conflicted, UrMa.” UrSu sighs, his eyes are distant, his mouth drawn down at the corners. He gets like this often. He sees the future better than any of the Mystics and what he sees disturbs him. UrMa remains silent but presses a kiss to his Master's knee. UrSu's hand moves to rest on the top of his head and strokes through UrMa's hair until it finds his long, floppy ears. He takes them between his fingers and strokes them. Their downy fur comforts him when he is contemplative. UrMa huffs with contentment and rests his cheek on his Master's knee,  
"Speak with UrZah," he suggests, if anyone can help you make clear the future it is him."  
"I am afraid of what I will see when the water clears." UrSu sighs.  
He looks down into his Peacemaker's face and cups his cheek in one rough, warm palm,  
"I fear always that I fail you."  
"You do not fail me, Master."  
"You would resent me, Peacemaker, if you knew what I harbour."  
"I know what you harbour, Master." UrMa says, mouth in a gentle smile.  
He runs his hand up under his Master's robe and strokes his stomach,  
"And I do not resent it. My other half is in pain, I feel it. Even his love hurts. How can I resent him the gentle hand of my master, when he is me and I am him?"   
UrSu cups his face, caresses him, leans down and kisses him,  
"Your heart is biggest of all, Peacemaker." 

SkekVar lies his head in the UrRu Master's lap. His knees are folded beneath him but he is content to kneel on the dirt at the Master's feet. Content as long as the Master's hand smooths over his head, scratching short nails through his curling black mane. He snorts and snuffles, cheek rubbing against the rough weave of his Master's robes. He can feel the warmth and firmness of his master’s thigh through the material and he presses his face into it and sighs.

How easy this life would be, the Master thinks.to sit like this in meditation with VarMa at his feet. To run his hands through their hair and feel the warmth of their loving bodies. Their unquestioning faith blinding the dark eyes of his own terror. He could live like this for an eternity. An eternity of peace. It seems so easy to embrace it; VarMa is so willing to give it. What could come between one who gives and one who takes? It is not one. It is two. Two who would give to one who is two, and that cannot be.   
He winds a lock of SkekVar's curling black hair around one finger,  
“What will you do when your time here reaches its end, Ambassador?”  
SkekVar grunts himself awake and bleary-eyed he tips his head back to stare with glazed eyes into his Master’s face,  
“What?”  
UrSu strokes his cheek,  
"Where does your path take you I wonder? Into service: yes, but into service of what? Life or death?"  
"Life." SkekVar says,  
"The Life of the Emperor? A life built on the bent back of the suffering of others. That is no life, that is Death in masquerade. That is a mocking of life."  
SkekVar snorts and scowls,  
"You mock life! You call this life? It is a living death. Only dead things do nothing but decay."  
UrSu hums, his old eyes sad. He turns his face away and SkekVar's anger is instantly quenched and he is filled with regret. He twists to place both hands on his master's knee and leans up towards him,  
"Sire…"  
"Perhaps you are right." The Master says, "Perhaps I am wrong. I fear it always: that because I am half I cannot see the whole. Yet when I was whole was I right? Or was I wrong also? I think it was the latter and that frightens me more."  
SkekVar nuzzles his knee,  
"Master you are wise, forgive."  
UrSu strokes his hand over SkekVar's curling black mane,  
"There is nothing to forgive. Forgiveness is given at the moment of the crime for what is done cannot be undone and so should not be regretted. There is only the future and it is the path of the future that concerns me."  
The Master sighs again,  
"And it occurs to me that your path is as determined as mine is. That we are both heading towards the same end. Will one tune end while the other continues? Or will we meet in a great crescendo? You will return to the Emperor."  
"Of course."  
UrSu cups his face with long, gnarled fingers. His eyes, a pale watery blue like the Emperor's, stare into SkekVar's own orange eyes. Ice and fire: a cold wind and a warm hearth... A distant storm lit by the light of a burning village.   
"Yet you hope that you may keep me?"  
"I want you!"  
"And for a Skeksis, want justifies."  
"I love you."  
"No," UrSu says, shaking his shaggy head, "No, you love the Emperor."  
SkekVar squeezes his thigh,  
"Return with me!" He urges,  
"To the Castle of the Crystal?"  
"Submit to the Emperor's will, admit that you were wrong! Obey! Obey and he will welcome you!"  
"Never. I am that which he seeks to bury, but I am not alone in the darkness. I want to be free and there are other things, other things in the dark that seek to be free also."  
UrSu begins to tremble. It starts in his hands and travels up his arms, enters into his body like a chill. He cannot fight it so he submits. He always submits.

SkekVar grabs him, wraps him in his arms and clenches him tight, tries to crush the fear from him,  
"I will plead your case!"  
The Master is weak in his arms, he shakes and it is hard to tell if he is shaking his head 'no'.   
"I must have you!"  
"No!" The Master breaks free of him, crashes against the wall.  
"Master!"  
"No, no! I cannot return! We are two songs! It is horror- we are two songs! All my life. All my future. The winding path, the endless circles. Not a maze- a maze has an end- a circle has no end: a circle is a prison. Please, leave me. I have been cruel to you."  
"No!" SkekVar roars and he clenches his fists so tightly he draws blood,  
"You belong to me!"  
"No…" UrSu sighs, "I belong to no one. Not even SkekSo. I am a melody lost in the song, discordant. I play because I know not what else to do, and worst of all, I have deceived others into mistaking me for the music."  
SkekVar whimpers, this is not fair: he cannot understand. He is not made to be capable of understanding. He snorts and sniffles, torments the sand into clouds with his tail,  
"Please, Master, forgive. Whatever I have done: forgive!"  
"It is me who must beg for forgiveness," the Master sighs, pressing his long face to the rock, "I have been cruel and I will be cruel yet. I know but one tune and I will chain others to it. I am wicked. I must control others, I am afraid, too afraid too let them go. I am afraid to let them sing so I crush them, bend them to my music. It is my nature as it is his nature and yet he is not me and I am not him and you do not love me and I do not love you."  
"How can you say that?" SkekVar whispers, "you feel-"  
"The ache of a memory. The longing for something that doesn't exist. That's why it hurts, isn't it? That's why it can only hurt. Because regrets always hurt. Loss always hurts."  
SkekVar opens his mouth, closes it, opens it. Things have moved too quickly for him to follow. He had thought he had love.   
"Forgive me." He whispers.  
UrSu turns to him. He looks weak. He looks tired,  
"You must return to him, for there is something he can give you that I cannot. He is him. I am only me."  
"I want you both!"  
"You want what we were, but that is my truth I fear to face. That is what lurks in the darkness of my mind. That is why I cannot- can never confront SkekSo because it is the truth that he would show me. We are changed. We have changed ourselves. We are being changed, and something that is changed cannot be made back into what it was. Even rejoined we would not be who we were. That is my horror. That is my darkness."  
"This," he whispers, tracing a circle thoughtlessly onto the wall with one finger, "is my prison."  
SkekVar is silent. He is afraid and he is awed. He cannot understand but he is a being of sensation and what he feels overwhelms him.   
"I have hurt you. My love would hurt you." UrSu sighs,  
"The Emperor's love hurts me always. It only hurts me." SkekVar snorts, "that is what love is: It is suffering. Love is pain."  
UrSu smiles at him weakly but it doesn't reach his eyes,  
"I wish that were not true. Perhaps one day, for us, it won't be. I would like that." He shakes his head slowly, "it would be something worth dying for."  
A silence falls over them.  
"You are dismissing me?" SkekVar says,  
"I am freeing you."  
SkekVar snorts. His emotions are… they are too big and he needs time to understand them. He clenches and unclenches his fists, he blinks rapidly, he sniffs. He says,  
"As you command." And bows a stuff, sharp bow, then he turns and leaves the cave, sweeping aside the raggedy door cover. 

He does not look back. He is not strong enough. He marches himself, a soldier’s march, up and out of the valley. Counting in his head. The steady 1-2-3-4 of a soldier’s step. 1-2-3-4 into the trees, 1-2-3-4 to the lake, 1-2-3-4 the night comes and he sits on a log in the dark forest and weeps. When the morning suns dapple the forest floor he marches on. 

Action. Action is the solution to any problem. Mystics over think. If they acted they would live less miserable lives. He will walk it off, like he would an injury and soon the pain will be like an old wound. Dull. A dull and tremulous ache that will never be forgotten, that in the night will wake him and keep him awake to keep him company in the darkness. 

There are deep things living in the minds of the Emperor and those deep things have burrowed through and laid their eggs in the fresh, shallow water of SkekVar's mind. And soon those eggs will hatch and those deep things, those dark and monstrous things will make their home in his waters too. But SkekVar does not understand this, so he walks and walks to walk it off. He walks to leave it behind. And all the while they incubate, and all the while they grow.


	35. Pit

It is a primal hunger that drives them tonight, stumbling into the Emperor's room claws tearing at each other's clothes haphazardly. (SkekEkt will be furious.) They need flesh. To touch flesh. Each other's flesh. Hot and hard and soft and knobbled, meat. They need meat. So they strip each other down and grope, panting into each other's mouths as they stagger to the bed and scramble onto it, practically climbing over each other. The Emperor ends up on top and he grinds his slippery erections against SkekVar's as SkekVar groans his name and clings to him. They rut against each other, rolling on the bed and then kiss. Long and deep and languid kissing as their hands, suddenly shy, explore each other's bodies. Their hips roll and the grinding begins again, steady, slow strokes. Heads slicking precum up and down the length of each other's shafts. SkekVar moans the Emperor's name into his ear hole. His razor-sharp talons grip the Emperor's rump. SkekSo's tongue curls wetly over his neck. They groan and sigh together. 

Saccharine is what the Emperor would think they are if he weren't so drunk, but he is very drunk and only getting drunker as he licks the taste of wine from the inside of SkekVar's mouth. His bony, wrinkled hands stroke up SkekVar's stomach, over the breasts, play with his pectorals, caress his long thin neck. He slips his thumb into SkekVar's mouth and compresses the wide, purple tongue. SkekVar moans around it. 

They need each other tonight. Need each other like animals need each other: all body, no politics, no games, no power plays. Just the sweaty heaving and the slapping of flesh on flesh. That rhythmic hypnotic noise, that rhythmic hypnotic movement of the hips. Every thrust sending SkekSo further into what he needs: mindless pleasure. 

He reaches back and clings to SkekVar's hair as the General slides inside of him. In, deep so deep, out, ah! So empty! In again. SkekVar's beak nudges against his neck. His deep, low voice sighs and moans the Emperor's name. SkekSo tips his head back and kisses him. They both grind the Emperor down into the mattress. It's so good. It's just right. It's just what he needs. It's just in the right spot- there! Ah! There!

SkekSo cries out. He clings to SkekVar as SkekVar's hips keep pumping, as his three thick lengths slide in deeper and deeper, pull back to stretch his hole, and then impale him again. SkekSo's legs spread of their own accord,  
"Deeper," he wheezes, "Deeper!"   
Tonight he needs something up inside of him. Something to touch a spot in him that has never been filled. 

SkekVar's weight is heavy and warm against his back. Their limbs are tangled together. Their bodies are-  
Their bodies are-  
Their bodies are one.  
"Deeper." SkekSo moans and he's not sure if he means SkekVar's cocks.

SkekVar sighs his name. His powerful hands slide beneath the Emperor's stomach and worship him. Caress him. Fondle him with such delicate teasing touches that he quivers and wails. He spurts hot and urgent into SkekVar's hand and the mattress and his own bloated stomach. His eyes roll back in his head, he wheezes a great death rattle. His tail wraps around SkekVar's and squeezes, begging him wordlessly for what he needs. SkekVar cums inside of him.

It is ecstasy.  
He is filled up.  
It is what he needs. But too quickly it dribbles down. Even as SkekVar remains inside of him, hips rolling, groaning the Emperor's name in worship, he can feel it trying to flee. 

Why does it leave him?  
Why can they not conceive?

He wants SkekVar to fill him. To fill him so full he never feels the emptiness again. The emptiness is so hungry, but he is hungry also. Hungry to feel whole. They will eat each other up.

SkekVar presses kisses down the back of his neck. Caresses his face with his secondary hands, strokes his tail with his own. Sighs his name into his skin. 

SkekSo lies slumped on the bed.  
The ecstasy is there but the emptiness too. Even with SkekVar still inside him he can feel it leaking away: his peace of mind. The empty contentment he feels as the General caresses him inside and out. Long, hot, throbbing lengths stroking him. Bringing him up into an explosive bliss. Making him moan. Making him whimper and cling to the bed, without shame, without loss of respect or dignity.   
He needs it so badly.  
The hunger for it comes again.   
He is unsatisfied.  
Will anything ever be enough?  
"Get the cockring." He wheezes and SkekVar slides out of him, eager to obey. 

Tonight he will be his Emperor's all night. All night until their is no pleasure, only pain, then they will find a new kind of pleasure. Yes, they will fill each other moment to moment, dangling over the pit of emptiness below the explosions of pleasure.  
SkekVar slides back inside of him with a grunt and SkekSo moans,  
"Yes. Fill me up. Don't stop."  
and clings to him.


	36. Performer

SkekVar strips off slowly and lays himself out on his bed, legs spread, his back propped up against the headboard. He starts by running his hands over his pectorals, licks his palms until they're sticky with spit and then slides them over his knobbled body. He squeezes his pecs, flexes them, slips his hands down to fondle his breasts and nipples, pinches, twists, yelps, strokes his bulging stomach. His hands caress his skin, teasing and tickling down, down. He avoids his groin and moves to tease the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. They twitch. His slit flexes as his cocks threaten to erupt out. He reigns them in- not yet. His hand moves back over his body and he tips his head back and lets his eyes flutter closed, huffing. He imagines the Emperor, hard, hungry, fierce eyes dark with lust. His long, slender cocks hard and straining, leaking for SkekVar, wanting SkekVar. Only SkekVar.

He groans as he finally makes contact with his cloaca, stroking up the slit with one fingertip. His cocks jump free, slick and swollen. He snorts and takes himself in hand. With one hand massaging a pec, he strokes himself with long, slow strokes. All the way up and over the heads and then down, slippery and tight, to his hole. He strokes himself like this until his knees tremble, then he stops and brings his precum slick hand up to swirl his fingertips around and around his heads until he's panting open-mouthed. His thighs tremble, his hips buck desperate for more contact. He refuses himself. Pinches and tugs on his nipples instead and groans with need. 

The Emperor would torment him. Would want him to ache. He does. He leaves his cocks and heads down to treat a part of himself the Emperor never does. In his room, he can indulge in his fantasies. His slippery fingertip slides down, following the sloping underside of his cocks, and presses into his cloacal hole. He gasps, leg kicking, and then groans as he penetrates himself up to the knobbled, ridged knuckle. He whimpers as he begins to thrust into himself. Presses his finger deeper until he's buried all the way in the tight, soft heat of his hole. The deep root of his cocks are extra sensitive and he rubs his finger over that slick throbbing organ. His knees bend, he gasps, he thrusts himself down onto his finger. Clings to the headboard as he fucks himself. When one finger is no longer enough he slips a second in and moans, rolling onto his side, knees spread, so that he can pump and pump into himself. He gasps, whimpers, keens,  
"Emperor! Ah!"  
And grits his teeth, toes curling. Then he pulls his fingers out crying out in frustration. He clings to the headboard and thrusts desperately against the air until he collapses back onto the bed. He pants, chest heaving. So close, he had been so close but the refusal only heightens the pleasure.

He grabs his cocks in one hand and penetrates himself with the other. It doesn't take long for him to be crying out. Pumping into his fist and thrusting down onto his fingers. His cocks twitch and spasm, his hole clenches, he shoots up over his fist and cries out,  
"Emperor!" pitifully as he stripes his stomach with cum and squirts over the bed.

He strokes and rubs himself through his orgasm and finally flops down onto the bed to bathe in the afterglow.   
"Good boy," the Emperor wheezes, "come- come!"  
SkekVar crawls down the bed and then the little way across the floor. 

The Emperor is nude, hunched in an ornate armchair. He's hard as a rock and leaking heavily. SkekVar kneels between his knees and SkekSo knots his talons in SkekVar's hair and yanks his head down. SkekVar obeys happily, taking him eagerly into his mouth, he slobbers over the Emperor's aching cocks. 

SkekSo snaps his hips, pumping into SkekVar's warm, wet mouth. He throws his head back, panting, as he fucks SkekVar's throat. So hot and tight and wet, SkekSo squeezes his eyes shut and fantasizes that it is SkekVar's hole he's fucking. His General has no idea the torment he has put his master through, fingering himself on the bed. Curse his self-restraint! Curse his rules and regulations. When their relationship began he promised he would never take SkekVar's hole, not knowing how badly he would want it all these years later. He cannot go against himself: there must be order, there must be boundaries. His word must be law. 

He thrusts into SkekVar's throat brutally as his General drools around him. Pictures pinning the powerful, muscular body beneath him, clinging to the fatty rolls and penetrating him. Thrusting into him again and again, making him squeal, making him writhe and beg. The fact that SkekVar wants his cocks so badly only makes it harder to resist but Skeksis need refusal, they need something to want and SkekSo cannot take that away from his slave. Cannot take the sweet pain of unfulfilled need. So, hands clutching at the back of the General's head, claws drawing blood, he snarls,  
"Yes, ah, yes!" and cums down SkekVar's throat instead.

SkekVar moans and they groan together in ecstasy. The Emperor's slave licks and sucks until there is nothing left, then he draws back and sits on his calves gazing with adoration at his master.

SkekSo sits flopped, propped up by the straight back of the chair. His bony chest heaves, his thighs still tremble with the aftershocks.   
"Was that good, sire?" SkekVar smiles,  
"Oh yes." The Emperor groans.   
He gropes out blindly with one hand and pats the top of SkekVar's bald head. SkekVar snorts and presses into it then leans in and rests his cheek on the inside of the Emperor's thigh. He whuffs out a warm breath over the Emperor's sweat prickled skin. The Emperor cups his cheek ridge with his palm, strokes his thumb back and forth over his brow. 

He can still picture it: his General spread out on the bed for him, legs wide, hole wet, begging for his Emperor's cocks. 

SkekSo sighs. Slides his thumb into SkekVar's mouth and feels the tongue lap at him. His thigh twitches. His weak, softening cocks jump. He groans as he guides his slave’s mouth back to his oversensitive, painful lengths. Closes his eyes and imagines slipping inside that tight, pretty hole.

Will his torture ever end? Truly, of all the Skeksis, the Emperor suffers most.


	37. Raise them Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Child abuse (Ordon learnt how to be a Captain from SkekVar's example, go figure)

"Faster!" The Lord General snarls, "Faster! Faaaaster!"  
He is a hard taskmaster. He is training his castle guard to be the best. He is training them for his entertainment.  
"Where is Rian?" He barks and Ordon pauses, turning away from his circling soldiers,  
"Rian? Forgive me, Lord General." Ordon says, glancing around quickly and then colouring with shame,  
"You'll be forgiven when Rian is forgiven," his Lord snarls, "and he'll have to beg for it!"  
"Of course, Lord. He shall." Ordon bows, "may I?-"  
"Find him!"  
Ordon leaves, fists tight, to retrieve his son.

SkekVar wrinkles his beak and goes back to watching the Gelfling running circles in the mud. He doesn't know how Captain Ordon tolerates that boy. Stupid, willful, selfish. If Skeksis could reproduce as easily as Gelfling he would throw his child into the moat and breed up another one rather than raise a wastrel like Rian.   
He cannot understand it.  
If there were ever a Gelfling he liked, and he supposes he is getting soft in his dotage, it would be Ordon. Ordon is strict, cool, critical, unforgiving, and internal. SkekVar cannot think of a time he has seen the old soldier tell his son he loves him. In some ways, Ordon reminds him of the Emperor. They are both ruthless, resentful of offers of help, hard and closed-off as a cave-in, and completely intolerable to fools or failures.  
Yes… if SkekVar were to have the Emperor's childling he would want it to be an Ordon over a Rian. 

He had hoped when Ordon's woman had conceived that he would get another hundred years of easy living out of the family. Another blunt, loyal, hardworking slave to act as his right hand when training his Gelfling bored him. Instead, he got more work. He is starting to think they should breed the Gelfling somehow for useful traits. 

SkekVar hears a noise. Tilts his head, sniffs and then looks over his shoulder. There: the old soldier has found his boy. 

Captain Ordon drags Rian from the Castle, across the green, gouging up mud and grass, and into the middle of the Castle Guard. He flings the boy to the ground and looks to his Lord General for guidance. SkekVar suppresses a smile, snorts and gives him a curt nod.  
"Stop running!" Ordon shouts and the guard freeze. They turn inward and stand in silence.   
Rian pushes himself up on his elbows complaining to his father and then cries out as his trousers are ripped down his ankles, exposing him. Ordon raises his belt and lashes his son across the rump. With every strike of the leather on the boy's skin, with every squall of humiliation and pain, SkekVar's stomach trembles with laughter. He can hardly hold it in. The Crystal guard watch as their Captain beats his son. Then the Lord General throws back his head and bellows with laughter and they, pretty soldiers, follow suit. 

Rian presses his face into the ground and rubs away his hot tears on the wet grass.  
"Pull up your trousers," Ordon commands him as he puts his belt back on, "and run four laps of the Castle wall."  
Rian dresses and stands. His hands tremble,  
"Yes, Captain." He hisses and he turns and breaks through the wall of guards and runs before his Captain can admonish him. 

SkekVar grins and shakes his head. A sunbeam breaks through the clouds and he tips his head back and admires it. It is quite a good life, really, being a Skeksis Lord. He looks down again. The guards stare expectantly, hands loose at their sides, faces empty,  
"Well go on then!" He barks, "keep running!"


	38. Pretty Little Thing

SkekVar bangs his shoulder into the heavy wooden basement door and huffs. SkekShod pushes back in a futile attempt to close and lock-out the intruder but SkekVar is too big and heavy and too well practised in using brute force to get what he wants. He throws himself against the door again and splinters it away from the half-closed lock,  
“SkekShod,” he bellows, thrusting out on hand as he forces his way into the Treasurer’s domain, “What is this?”  
SkekShod, who is trying not to fall over after being thrown backwards by the body-blow, freezes and clenches up like a frightened crab. His eyes widen,  
“Ah,” he says, creeping closer, “pretty. Give it to me?”  
“No!” SkekVar snarls, clenching his fist around his prize, “just look at it and tell me what it is.”  
SkekShod licks his beak, twists up his little crooked hands,  
“Let me look at it, General. Just let me look at it?”  
SkekVar cautiously opens his hand.  
It is a beautiful thing, small and glinting, like a little jewelled bug trapped in silver. There’s something about it that caught his eye, something about it that is so precise and so perfect and SkekShod sees it too. His bright, wide eyes prove it. He reaches out again and SkekVar lashes out a hand and wrenches at his narrow wrist,  
“Try and take it from me and I’ll take your hand.” he snarls.  
“What do you want with it?” SkekShod squawks, “You don’t care about pretty! You don’t understand pretty!   
He pulls pitifully at his wrist but SkekVar’s hands are big and strengthened by years of brute violence and the hard hilt of a sword. The General pulls up his lips and snarls and SkekShod wilts,  
“I won’t keep it,” he says, plaintively, “but I can’t tell you what it is if you don’t let me see it.”  
SkekVar opens his hand once more.  
Yes.  
It’s small and beautiful and finely made, so fine, and so clean and clear cut.   
“Where did you get it?” SkekShod says, unable to tear his eyes away, “Where can I get one?”  
“You can’t.” SkekVar snorts, “I took it. By force. Something that you- a weakling- can’t do. It’s mine. My prize to do with as I wish.”  
SkekShod looks up at him, back bowed in supplication,  
“Please, SkekVar, let me buy it from you? I have so much, so many pretty things, you can choose-”  
“No! Tell me: is it a brooch? A necklace? A clock? What? What is it?”  
“I- I don’t know-”  
“Bagh! Useless!” SkekVar snarls, throwing the Treasurer to the ground, “What’s the point of you?”  
He shakes his head as SkekShod squeals, snorts and leaves.

How infuriating. He thinks as he makes his way back up the curling dark stairways of the Castle. His tail thunk-thunks in irritation against the stairs behind him. He clenches and unclenches his fists and then makes his way down a familiar route.

He knocks on the door of the Emperor’s bed chambers and wraps his tail around his own leg as the door creaks open. The Emperor squints at him. It is late and he is already in his flowing, loose bedclothes,  
“Enter.” he wheezes.  
SkekVar enters.  
The Emperor, rasping and shivering paces back to his bed and climbs in, hooking is heavy bedsheets up around his neck. He stares at SkekVar, eyes hooded in a lazy, but not patient, expectation.  
SkekVar clears his throat,  
“Sire,” he begins but he loses his voice and has to swallow, “Sire, I bring you a gift from abroad. From the war. From the war abroad.”  
SkekSo blinks slowly.   
SkekVar reaches into his pocket and pulls the little thing out. He holds out his hand, palm up, and hurries to the Emperor’s bedside so he may inspect the gift. The Emperor cranes his head on his ropey neck and his eyes widen,  
“What is it?” he croaks,  
“It is-” SkekVar pauses again, “A- uh- thing.”  
The Emperor looks up at him and raises his brows. The corner of his mouth quirks up,  
“Oh.” he says, “I see. An exotic ‘thing’.”  
SkekVar grimaces,  
“I asked SkekShod, sire, but he did not know.”  
The Emperor holds out his slender hand,  
“Give it to me.”  
SkekVar hands it over. The Emperor hums his approval as he lifts it and turns it in the light. It glints wonderfully.  
“Beautiful…” he whispers.  
SkekVar snorts. His tail uncurls and thumps against the floor.  
“Good, sire.”  
“Yes,” The Emperor says, “We will have to think of some use for it.”

SkekVar is on his knees, tail waggling. He can feel his heart thumping, his stomach is doing the flippy-flops it does whenever he is summoned to the Emperor’s chambers. The Emperor, his beautiful Emperor, has his back to him and is going through one of his many bags of treasurers. SkekVar is erect and unashamed of it. He has served his master well today and his master has promised him a reward. He lives for these nights. Lives for these little moments of blissful recognition. The punishments are good but the rewards are transcendent. 

When the Emperor turns around SkekVar’s tail stills. He stares. The Emperor grins,  
“Yes,” The Emperor purrs as he approaches. He holds the leather band out in front of him and SkekVar tips up his head and exposes his throat.  
“There,” the Emperor says as he straps the collar around his slave’s neck.   
He steps back and admires it. It’s glossy black and wide enough that SkekVar cannot dip his head comfortably. The General glows with pride.  
SkekSo grins and retrieves a mirror from his dressing table,  
“Now,” he says, as he approaches to show SkekVar himself, “the moment of perfection.”  
SkekVar gasps.  
In the centre of the collar, as its decoration- as his decoration- is the beautiful, shiny, glinting delicate thing.  
“Sire…” he gasps,  
“A pretty little thing for my pretty little thing.” The Emperor purrs (only half-mocking.)  
SkekVar’s tail beats the floor furiously.  
“Sire.” He huffs, breathless.  
“Here now,” the Emperor grins, hooking his claw under the collar and tugging SkekVar forward, “Come, come. Let’s see how you wear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SkekShod is just Gollum to me.


	39. Deet.

Chamberlain comes doddering into the throne room carrying a plate of blood-red and orange-skinned fruit,  
"Come, come, Gelfling must eat yes? Must keep strength up, yes, if going to defeat the Darkening?"  
Deet watches him. His rhythmic bobbing head, the tiny, pinprick teeth that show as he smiles, his glinting sly eyes. She squeezes her knees with her dirty hands.  
He makes his way across the room and stops at a safe distance. Tipping the plate so she can see its contents (delicious, ripe, bulging fruit fit to burst with flesh and juices) he offers it to her. She stares at him and says nothing.  
"Don't want it? Hmm," he says, still smiling, "shame. Chamberlain is trying to help."  
"Why?"  
"Because Chamberlain is friend to Gelfling!" He cries, "Tried to stop war before it began!"  
Deet shakes her head,  
"You manipulated Rian!"  
"Manipulated?" He tips his head curiously "Perhaps. Tried to make a deal- yes. Tried to save many lives, hoped to make peace. Thra is in grave danger! No time for war!"  
"Danger the Skeksis caused."  
"Danger Emperor caused," SkekSil says and his lips pull into a thin, tight smile,  
"Danger," he says quietly, "Emperor will only make worse. SkekSil likes Thra, SkekSil lives on Thra like Gelfling, with Gelfling. Wants to live in peace. All things kill to live-"  
"-they don't have to! We can live in harmony- the animals are our friends!"  
"-SkekSil wants Skeksis to kill only so much that they can live peacefully, yes? But Emperor is dying. Emperor is vengeful. Does not want others to live, does not want Thra to live if he must die."   
He tips his beak down, bends his crooked body until they are level, until his round yellow eye, bald and wet and staring, is peering into hers,  
"Do not underestimate the Darkening," he whispers, "the Emperor has suffered a long time. His body is rotting. His body is dying. Gelfling's body will rot too. Pain, great pain, and anger and sadness, and finally: despair. Let Chamberlain help. Help Chamberlain. Peace is made through acts of kindness."  
Deets small, frail hands squeeze her knees so tightly they bruise,  
"I don't believe you." She says, voice wavering.  
Chamberlain smiles,  
"You will." He says, "and Chamberlain will be here. Chamberlain will always be here... as Gelfling's friend."

In the great choking sea of blood-red bedsheets the Emperor tosses and turns in terror. His brow sweats, his skin is pale. He wakes from his dreams, shaking, into an existence only more nightmarish. In his dreams, he is tormented by a presence, in his waking hours by an agonising absence.

The bedsheets seem indented by another's weight, but it is only the weight of history and the Emperor's brittle bony fingers trace out the old indentations on the mattress blindly groping for the past. He wheezes, throat constricting and struggles out of bed. The room swims and he staggers to the ensuite doorway and leans on the stone arch for support, weak and trembling. He opens his mouth to cry out and chokes on the name before it can leave it. There is no one now who answers to it. 

He vomits purple tinted phlegm into the porcelain toilet bowl and wipes the cold sweat from his brow on the back of his sleeve. His bedrobes choke him and he strips them off and crawls into the empty copper bath to curl up. His tail squeezes around his leg and his arms, so thin, so wrinkled, wrap around his ribs and hook their claws into his skin. He whispers to himself. Something about eternity and immortality. Something about power and control, and he begins to slow his breathing. When he is capable, he climbs out of the bath and crawls on his hands and knees out of the ensuite and back into the bedchamber like a dog. Halfway to bed he stops, realises what he is, and howls. Howls at the floor in a screech of unbridled pain and fury. Then he stands up and trashes the room.

When he is too weak to continue he crawls back into bed, tucks the covers up under his beak and stares into the tumultuous ruins of the darkness. The strange, broken shapes of his bedroom loom at him from all sides,  
"I'm not afraid of you." He whispers, "I will crush you. I will crush the Gelfling. I will destroy even death."  
Death just laughs at him.  
He clenches his trembling fists,  
"You think you have won," he wheezes, "because you have- you think you have beaten me but you have made me stronger. I will not let you take what is mine!"  
Death does not answer him.  
He is too afraid to sleep but being awake is too painful to bear. He hisses with fury and yells for his slaves. The Podling creak open the door,  
"Tell SkekTek I need a draught! Something strong. I must sleep! And without dreams!"  
The Podling bow deeply and flee, leaving him alone.  
He stares at the wall opposite.  
Not alone.  
If only he were alone.  
He is so terribly alone.  
He has been robbed and left only the memory of what is lost. The memory, he thinks, hurts worse than the loss.  
"I want to forget." He wheezes, but that's not true.  
He wants revenge.  
He wants peace.  
But there is only darkness, and there is only regret and there is only the long slow dream slipping towards death.

In the early hours of the morning, he gets up in a frenzy and wraps his long black silk nightgown around himself, tucking it and teasing it to conceal his wretched body.  
“Podlings!” he bellows, “Slaves!”   
They enter, heads bowed,  
“Clean this mess!”  
He leaves. 

The great arteries of the Castle of the Crystal flush him through like a necrotic cell. His long nightgown billowing behind him, he hobbles through them in darkness until he comes out into the cavernous throne room. The Gelfling is hunched in his throne, tucked pathetically against the curved arm of the chair. He slams his staff down on the floor and she jumps crying out in fear and peers at him through pitch-black doe eyes.   
“Is this what you want?” He wheezes.  
He has not put on his beak and his nose drools thick mucus dribbles down his snout and onto the floor. He peers at her through the gloom and she peers back: afraid of him, affronted by him, disgusted by him,  
“Hmm? Is this what you want?” he barks, “To rot? To die? Like me? Poisoned? Hmm? Powerful, huh?”  
“I just want you to stop,” she says,  
“Then kill me!” He roars.  
“I don’t want to hurt anyone!”  
“Lucky for you then!” he says, “To commit the crime and still claim the victim!” 

She stares at him in silence. She can’t make him out, he thinks. He is powerful and yet weak, domineering and yet his limbs tremble like a sickly child. In a fit of madness he frantically unties his belt and drops his nightgown to the floor and stands and stares at her, nude and wretched and shaking. She covers her eyes.  
“Look at it!” He wheezes, struggling to get the breath to raise his voice, “Look at what you will become! You want the Crystal? Take it! You have the shard? Use it! I fear nothing! I am nothing! You think you know suffering? I have not even begun with you! In the end,” he hisses, “You will beg for enslavement.”  
“I feel sorry for you,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, but we can help you. We don’t have to fight,”   
Slowly, the little Gelfling draws away her hands and raises her head and forces herself to look at him. He cringes. She is repulsed by him. He was beautiful once and she is disgusted by him.  
“We can’t forgive you,” she says, “not right away, but you could be good, I know it. Nothing is ‘evil’ not really, not completely. We all have the capacity for love and if we can love we can be kind to each other.”  
“Love…” he wheezes.  
The trembling is growing greater. The strength he had drawn from his mania is flagging but he must stay upright, must stay strong. 

“Love…” the word makes him feel sick. It empties up that vast sucking hole in the pit of his stomach that makes him feel like he is falling out of his own eyes and through the floor and into the darkness, the great endless darkness that calls to him. Always calls to him. Indents the bed and whispers his name.   
Love.   
He crumples over and vomits a mass of purple flecked bile. The Gelfling, the vile creature, leaps up as if to go to him but changes her mind. She still fears him. Good. He clutches at his bony chest, hunched over, wheezes,  
“I...will...destroy...you.”  
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “but I’m not going to let that happen.”

Love, he thinks, what does she know of love? What can Gelfling know of love, that live only a few trine and then decay and rot in the ground and within a few generations have forgotten each other? Love? What can Gelfling know of love, that grow to hate and loathe and fall in and out of infatuation with each other? Love. What can Gelfling know of love that see each other all different and are so quick to fear each other for it? Who will turn on their own at the command of an alien force? Love is a power as fearsome and foul and furious as Death. A foe who stalks his prey so stealthily, so secretly that he is already gone before he is aware he is tracked. Love, that makes eternity bearable. That makes old pleasures new, and new pleasures tolerable when they grow old. Love. Who refuses to die and only rots, turning to poisonous regret in the heart. Who stains the past and turns the future into a punishment. Love who lays siege and ransacks the body and leaves nothing left but wreckage and agony and the fruitless desire to rebuild. That leaves nothing behind but the golden dreams of the past… of what was had… and of what has been lost…

He had had so much. He had lived in a dream and thought it a nightmare out of nothing but sheer ignorance. Sheer, stupid ignorance. He stares at the floor.   
“If I cannot have Thra then I will have nothing,” he whispers, “you will have nothing. If I cannot have Thra.... there will be nothing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real depression hours


	40. The Disease comes from Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of rape in this chapter. This chapter follows on from the last one. We'll go back to happier, more innocent days soon I promise.

He slips inside SkekVar's hole. Finally, after all this time, he surrenders to it. It's so good. So sweet, so tight. The General's arms wrap around him, his thighs squeeze around the Emperor's hips, their bodies slot together. SkekVar envelops him. They become one. One body rocking and sliding and squeezing. One pulse pounding in their ears, one musical rhythm of panting, wheezing breaths. The Emperor groans as he clings to him shuddering,  
"Sire," SkekVar sighs in his ear hole, "Sire," utterly contented.  
"Ah, General, kiss me."  
The General's hands slip ghostly caresses over his skin but there is no kiss forthcoming.  
SkekSo snarls,  
"I said: kiss me."   
"I can't," SkekVar whispers, breath warm on his cheek, body curled hot and tight around him, "I'm dead."

SkekSo wakes on the tail end of a scream and leaps out of bed skittering across the floor and to the opposite wall. He clings to it and turns expecting to see the bloated, rotting, crumbling body of the General in his bed. 

It is empty.

Nothing but the bedsheets tossled and thrown back by his flight.  
His eyes jumped wildly around the room looking for signs: for shadows blacker than darkness, for yellow eyes glinting, but there is nothing. He is alone with his visions. He collapses and slides down the wall to crumple into a heap on the floor. Wraps his arms around himself and squeezes, wheezing. 

Foolish.

Foolish to be frightened by a dream.  
"… a nightmare."  
SkekVar's voice comes to him and he shivers. Foolish… an old fool.   
"I let you die," he wheezes, "I failed you. It is the Emperor's duty… I failed."  
Bad enough to lose SkekMal, and SkekLach and then… SkekVar, sweet and innocent SkekVar. Cut down in his prime. It sickens SkekSo to think of the General...to think of SkekVar alone and dying… murdered by that cowardly weakling Rian!

Was he afraid? SkekSo has asked Chamberlain this so many times. Was he afraid? What did he say? Did he ask for his Emperor? Could have been saved… these questions torment him. 

He clings to himself and stares at his loathsome bed. The resting place of terror. Of memories of better times. The bed is soaked with them. Stinks to its very core of SkekVar… of their… relations. Stinks so deeply it can never be cleaned. He will never be freed. He has toyed with the idea of burning it and having a new one built but… he just can't bring himself to go through with it. The stench is all that remains. Meaty, salty, sour stench of sweat and cum and… their very essence. That heady heavy scent of SkekVar: musky and earthy and slightly sour like raw meat blending with his own smell. How many hours had they laid together marinating in their own juices? Foul and stinking and sticking together. Touching each other… kissing each other. Not wanting to let go.

He still cannot let go and worst of all, it seems SkekVar will not let go of him either. He looks at eternity, when he looks at that bed, and sees himself alone. Only vengeance remains. Vengeance and a vengeful indulgence: living life to spite those who have tried to deprive him of it. Yes, he will drink and eat and dance and consume essence for eternity even if he loathes every minute of it. Even if he does it thinking of…even if he does it without feeling it at all. He will just drink. He will drink and drink until the stars go out and eternity ends and finally, it will all be over. And he will have won. Yes, it will have all been worth it.

In the night he wanders. Walks the corridors, a lost soul seeking the guidance of some unseen hand. Seeking answers. The Darkening has deceived him, handing its powers to the Gelfling as easily as Aughra had handed her favour. All of Thra, he thinks, would spit in the face of the Skeksis if it could. He despises it. Is infuriated by it. What have they done but lived? But made the most of the lives Thra had gifted them. If she had not wanted them cruel she should not have made them cruel, if she had not wanted them hungry she should have made them happy. He finds himself, as always, at the pit. 

The crack, the wound in Thra that bleeds its merciless, consuming dark essence. He stares into it,  
"I am like you," he wheezes, "hungry, sick, seeking something to fill the emptiness. What do you search for? What do you dream?"  
The Darkening does not answer him.

Chamberlain finds him, purely by chance it seems, and takes his arm and guides him back to his rooms. He tucks the Emperor into bed talking, incessantly talking and when the Emperor is ‘comfortable’ and filled to the brim with sleeping draught he stands over him, smiling.  
“Now, now,” Emperor,” SkekSil coos, “sleep now hmm? Keep your strength, yes? All is well. Skeksis return to castle, Garthim army grows by the day and Gelfling-”  
“The Gelfling has taken the Crystal from us!” SkekSo wheezes in an attempt at a shout,  
“No, no,” Chamberlain coos and, horribly, strokes a soothing hand over the Emperor’s hair, “Deet is friend to Skeksis, although she does not know it hmm? Yes. Let Deet remain in Castle’s heart. The Crystal is sick with Darkening, Deet absorbs Darkening, let Deet absorb Darkening from Crystal. When Crystal is healed it will give life as it did before and Skeksis will be able to live without fear.”  
“No!” the Emperor barks, “The Darkening does not infect the Crystal, the Darkening is the Crystal! You don’t understand…” his voice fades as the draught begins to claw him down into darkness. He swallows heavily, it feels like drowning,  
“... the disease… the disease comes from within…”  
“Shh,” SkekSil whispers and the Emperor trembles as he feels the hand stroking his hair slide down his chest and beneath the bedsheets,   
“Shhh,” Chamberlain coos smiling horribly, a sickly smile, “Chamberlain is here to help. Chamberlain will make everything feel better.”

“No…” SkekSo manages to whisper and then he sinks and cannot claw back out.


	41. Dream a little dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I lied when I said there wouldn't be more sad stuff

The sound wobbles and cracks like blistering skin but it's better than the clumsy, intrusive presence of a Podling orchestra so the Emperor lifts the needle onto the rolling bar and lets the music play.  
"Come here," he commands and SkekVar gets up, mouth curled in a bemused and slightly anxious smile, and comes to him like the good fizzigig he is.

The Emperor holds out his hands and SkekVar takes them. All wrinkled knuckles and knobbled claws. Their bodies bounce against each other and then settle together. SkekVar is by no degree a talented dancer but he can rock in a steady rhythm as well as anyone.   
SkekSo does not know why, perhaps it is because he is feeling particularly melancholy, or, perhaps it is because he has been distinctly missing sleep recently, or, perhaps it is because SkekVar has been away recently and he is feeling… affectionate, whatever it is, he lets the General press against him as they shuffle from foot to foot. SkekVar turns him and SkekSo snorts with amusement and tucks his head against the General’s chest. 

It is easy to soften against the broad, warm body of the General, their palms pressed together, all four of them, their fingers interlaced. It is easy to close his eyes and to pretend to not notice as their heads rest together, as their snouts rub against each other. They throw their heads back and yell. Yell, flapping their tongues at nothing. SkekVar stops first, of course, and nuzzles his beak and then the rough knobbled top of his head against SkekSo's vibrating throat. His bass purring, more of a full body rumble, trembles through his skin and deep into SkekSo's old bones. It is a noise if contentment. SkekVar snorts and snuffles as he rubs and nuzzles and eventually SkekSo has to nip him just a little to cool him down. 

The candles flicker and die out one by one. Nothing lives forever. In the end, only one remains, in a brass bowl on the bedside table, beating back the darkness with every flutter. SkekVar strips him slowly, kissing each new inch of exposed skin, and they end up laid out on the red silk of the bed. SkekSo stretches out, wheezing, legs spread and SkekVar lies between them and laps and nibbles at each and every blue-blushed bruise-like spot on the Emperor's stomach and thighs. When they make love it's on their sides, face-to-face. They cum trembling against each other, tails squeezing and curled like two aribanara serpents wrestling to the death. Their breaths gust hot against the thin skin of each other's throats. SkekVar sighs and it is so easy to sigh with him and soften like melted wax into his skin. 

It is an awful night really, because of all of the nights they spent together it is one of the ones that comes to him in his dreams… his nightmares. When he forgets again what he has lost and wakes up blindly searching for it. What is it about that night that makes it curl itself so cruelly around his sleep? That makes it choke it? 

They lie face to face and SkekVar stares at him. Stares at him with those soft, warm orange eyes that glow like the flicker of the weakening candle. SkekSo tries to pretend he is asleep. It is two painful to withstand the strength of those eyes. The depth of those eyes. How SkekVar stares at him, stares at him and never grows bored of it. He cannot bear it. He must look away from it. Except, he realises, that he is looking back- must be, to be able to see those eyes. The light goes out and they stare in silence. Those orange eyes glowing, still, in the dark.   
SkekSo wakes up and stares into the darkness and waits for those eyes to open and glow again. He is alone. All that greets him is the brooding purple light,  
“SkekVar,” he wheezes.  
It has been such a long time. Has it been such a long time? It’s hard to know. He reaches out his hand and strokes it, palm open over the wrinkled bed sheets.   
“General…”

In the night he rolls over and SkekVar wraps his arms around him and pulls him to press them back to chest. SkekSo pretends he is asleep and lets him, softens, even, in his arms as an act of charity. He is a generous Emperor. SkekVar whuffs and snorts in his earhole, nibbles on his shoulder. Gently, that killer beak nuzzles his cheekbone. Warm and tender, SkekVar whispers into his ear,  
“I love you,” and SkekSo lets it go. Just this once. Just while he can pretend he is asleep. Just now in the darkness where not even the Crystal can see them. Where no one but them can ever use it against them. 

He rolls over onto his back. It is not nice remembering, he thinks, so he rings the bell for the Podlings. For his sleeping draught. The drowning darkness that pulls him away and swamps out all the memory and all the feeling,   
“I don’t want to feel,” he slides his hands over the empty bed, “I don’t want to remember.”  
There will be time enough for pain in all eternity. Tonight, he thinks, I only want to sleep.


	42. Young Wild Things

They bang their beaks together as SkekVar leans in to kiss. It is a delicate operation tonight: if he is too eager the Emperor will bite him, if he is not eager enough the Emperor will bite him. So he leaves his mouth open, mimicking the Emperor's open hissing toothy maw, and taps his beak against the Emperor's snout plaintively. He must be appealing tonight. He must be firm but submissive. The Emperor has left him with deep bleeding scratches down his forearms and some clean nips to his ears and if he is not careful he will get worse. But the Emperor wants him, has commanded him to his rooms. The Emperor is simply changeable. 

It is an Emperor's prerogative to be changeable.  
It is an Emperor's right.

It has been a day fraught with festivities. Gelfling, and wine, performances, songs, dances and the Emperor winning all of the games. Now he is overstimulated and tired: spines up, hair on end, tail whipping, talons curled and ready to rip. So, SkekVar creeps across the bedroom floor, mouth and palms open, tail between his legs. He brushes delicate touches across the Emperor's sinewy, muscular chest, and makes submissive grunts as he ducks away from the snapping beak. They circle each other. SkekSo hissing, SkekVar rumbling and grunting, a heavy rolling purr vibrating from his diaphragm. It is to let the Emperor know he is willing to fuck. The Emperor knows of course. Why else is he there? (What else is he good for?)

SkekVar's snorting and submissive dipping of his head earns him a nipped tongue and he groans. His mouth begins to fill with blood. He flashes his spines, rippling one after the other and puffs up his hair. Flexes his muscles. They circle each other a little more and when the bed is behind him, SkekVar scurries back onto it and spreads his legs, flat on his back. His cocks jump free. He is taking a gamble but he is a tactician and knows the enemy: it is a fifty-fifty chance he will get his cocks bitten and a fifty-fifty chance he'll get fucked. (It's a chance he's willing to take.) 

The Emperor screeches and leaps up onto the bed. It takes an iron will not to cringe and roll away, the kind of will only a seasoned warrior would have. SkekSo lands on him, impales himself and rides him like he's breaking a buck landstrider, bellowing his laughter. SkekVar clings on for dear life. Tonight he can do nothing but survive.

After a while, he's confident enough to grip the Emperor's hips. To run his hands over the powerful thighs that ripple with muscle, to stroke the long, firm stomach. His fingers get bitten but it's worth it to feel the lean muscles flexing beneath the hairy skin. SkekVar groans, open-mouthed. His eyelids flutter. It is a fight to keep his eyes open but he can't bear to look away. The Emperor cackles,  
"You love it! You stupid beast!" and rakes his talons down SkekVar's chest, peeling the skin in ugly gashes,  
"The Emperor takes what he wants!"

SkekVar moans. He is going to cum soon and he hopes desperately that the Emperor cums first or he will be punished again. He dreads the humiliation of being dragged before the Ritual Master, of being shamed before his fellow Skeksis simply because he can't resist the ecstasy of the Emperor's perfect hole.

His master is riding him mercilessly and he curls his toes in the bedsheets to try and stave-off his orgasm. It's so good, it's so perfect to be beneath the Emperor and at his mercy. To have his cocks used as his master's toys. It's all he's ever wanted and he still cannot believe it's not a dream. How often has he fantasized this exact scene? Yet the Emperor expects him to not cum? It's almost impossible, but no task is too difficult for the Emperor's most loyal slave.

The veins in SkekVar's neck bulge against his skin as he clenches his jaw. His heels dig into the mattress, his tail flicks. The Emperor is panting, riding him, slamming up and down on his lengths, quick and rough and brutal. SkekSo throws back his head and laughs maniacally as he cums, shooting over SkekVar's open wounds. SkekVar yells in relief, his cry broken by a whimper as he explodes inside his master. His whole body trembles with a mixture of fear and adrenaline and the overwhelming power of his orgasm. The Emperor's hole clenches around him, milking him dry and he whimpers and snorts pitifully as he is mocked and scoffed at,  
"Pathetic!" The Emperor crows, cackling, "desperate and pathetic!"  
It only makes SkekVar's cocks throb.

The Emperor rides him through his orgasm and then dismounts, sitting back on SkekVar's thighs, his hole dribbling cum.   
He raises his hand and open-palm slaps SkekVar's cocks. SkekVar yells. The Emperor laughs and slaps them again, then takes them in his hand and roughly twists and yanks them. SkekVar yelps and cries out in pain. His stomach muscles twitch as he fights the instinct to curl up away from the attack. His master just laughs harder. SkekSo jumps up and jams SkekVar's cocks back into his hole, grunting as he begins riding him again.

SkekVar sags back into the mattress, weak. His whole body has been battered and bruised. He is bleeding, he is spattered with cum. He whimpers. Tonight is going to be a very long night.


	43. Serpents

"I have something new for you tonight, General…" SkekSo whispers.  
SkekVar grunts awake, panting and grinning as he becomes aware of the Emperor's hand stroking and squeezing his cocks. He's slick with precum already and he rolls onto his back and spreads his legs. The sinewy muscles in his thighs twitch with anticipation. The bed creaks as the Emperor slides out of it and SkekVar's breath builds to an excited pant as he listens to his master moving around the room in the dark. He strains his eyes to see him and then gives up and relies on his sense of smell instead. He can almost taste the hot wet arousal of his master on his tongue. SkekVar's cocks bounce. His fists knot in the bedsheets,  
"Sire?" He calls into the darkness.  
"Naughty naughty, General." The Emperor purrs, "Let's see a little patience."  
A match lights and SkekVar squeezes his eyes closed against the glare. When he opens them again he finds the Emperor waiting for him in the dim orange glow. 

The Emperor is beautiful, always is, but now he's wrapped in a blue satin dressing gown that is almost black and twinkles with silver studs like stars. SkekVar groans.   
"Sire…" he whimpers.  
The Emperor reaches into the folds of his sleeve and draws something out. It too glints in the light. He hangs it on one finger,  
"Do you know what this is, General?"  
SkekVar swallows again, sweat beading on his brow,  
"Yes, sire."  
He knows perfectly well what it is. It's a cock-cage. SkekZok wears them. He's never had one himself but he knows the idea and the idea is pain.

A thick pearl of precum builds on the top of one of his heads and dribbles down the shaft.   
The Emperor grins, leans over and slowly swipes it off,  
"I knew you'd like it, General." He purrs. He climbs on to the bed and stops on his knees between the General’s spread legs. The cage is a thing of beauty. A bronze aribanara snake with an open, gaping mouth and ridged body. It opens with a clank and SkekVar jumps at the touch of the cold metal on his burning skin as it closes around him leaving just the tip of his cock beading with precum in the serpent's mouth. The Emperor brings out two more and clamps them around the other two cocks,  
"Sire," SkekVar whimpers, suddenly unsure.  
"Quiet!"

The Emperor cranks them and the serpents begin to squeeze around him. SkekVar's gnarled toes curl. At first, it feels good, then even better as it grows tighter, and then there is pain. He grits his teeth, his jaw muscles rippling.   
"Too small!" He snarls,  
"No, no," the Emperor purrs, "just right."  
The pad of his thumb swirls over one of the heads of SkekVar's cocks, sliding over slick hot tips to metal and down over the hot skin of his shaft that peeks through the ribs of the serpent. SkekVar's hips twitch. He gasps. He cannot thrust into anything, cannot even slap against his own stomach for relief. He is trapped, clenched painfully, the metal indenting his skin almost to bruise. What does his master want from him tonight? He wonders, If this is only the beginning?

The Emperor's fingers walk down, down past the cock cages to the hot, soft exposed skin of SkekVar's root where it tucks away into his hole. SkekVar trembles. His mouth opens in a pant as the Emperor begins to massage his member. The tips of his fingers nudging circles, squeezing, stroking only a few inches of skin. The pleasure butts up against the pain and SkekVar groans. The Emperor's fingers slide down to caress his lips with featherlight touches and SkekVar bucks his hips with the desire to be penetrated. The Emperor draws away with a chuckle and a tut. He slides back and off the bed and for a second SkekVar gets a glimpse of the Emperor's hard cocks hanging heavy between his legs, then the gown covers him again and he is left yearning. 

The Emperor heads to the chest of promise: the toy box he stores all of their items of torture, the treasure chest of pleasure and pain. SkekVar licks his lips half fearful and half eager to see what will come out. The Emperor lifts out a series of items and places them into a black velvet bag for easy carrying. SkekVar raises his brows but says nothing. Tonight will be a long one then. 

SkekSo lights another candle and places it in a brass holder on the bedside table,  
"There," he says, voice low and smooth, "now I can see my work."  
SkekVar grins and the Emperor grins back nastily. He crawls back up the bed and lifts a pinwheel. SkekVar gulps. His master’s cruel, spiked trap of a mouth pulls into a wider grin as he presses the pin-spikes to the swollen root of SkekVar’s cocks,  
“Please,” SkekVar whimpers,  
“Oh, General,” SkekSo coos, “My poor sweet, General. Very well, we’ll begin somewhere less sensitive.” he purrs and he pushes the pinwheel into the inside of SkekVar’s hot thigh and rolls it. SkekVar whines as the pinwheel pricks over his skin, leaving trails of red up and down his twitching muscles. When one leg is dealt with the Emperor moves to the other. SkekVar’s cocks leak over his stomach and his whimpers turn to groans as his master squeezes and pinches his bleeding thighs.   
“Sire,” SkekVar sighs,  
SkekSo chuckles and puffs a hot breath over the dribbling swollen heads. His slave whimpers,  
“Oh, please, sire,”  
“More, General?” SkekSo purrs, “Or less?”  
“More.”  
His master chuckles. 

SkekSo sits back and retrieves a riding crop, sleek black leather shined to a glossy sheen. Spanks the bloody thighs and then the General’s bloated stomach until they’re bruised and his stomach is stained with the blood from his wounds. SkekVar groans and rolls his hips and his master purrs with satisfaction, hunches over him and swipes the blood from his thighs with his long, wet tongue,  
“Oh, General,” he purrs, voice low and rough. He draws back his satin gown and strokes his leaking erections in long slow strokes all the way from root to swollen tips,  
“General...” he sighs and SkekVar groans,  
“Sire,”  
His master grabs his cocks and spanks the tips with his fingers until SkekVar is bucking into his fist pitifully, unable to get any pleasure with the cock-cages on. It’s torment. It’s so good. He can’t help but slur desperate pleas for more until his master is groaning and rubbing himself against his bloody thighs in rabid arousal, panting,  
“Yes, yes! Beg, General, beg!”   
SkekVar pants and groans and his master snarls and jerks himself back,  
“Enough!” he slaps his slave across the face and crushes his own over-eager cocks in his fist, desperate to quell his own arousal.   
He staggers across the room to grab his whip and growls,   
“Rollover.”  
SkekVar obeys, shifting onto his stomach with a groan as the cock-cages dig into his flesh.

The Emperor punishes him for his own arousal, whipping his fatty back in lieu of punishing his own leaking erections for their betrayal of his self-control. When he’s sliced SkekVar open to his satisfaction he drops the whip and staggers to the bed. SkekVar rolls over and his master mounts him, writhing against his hip bone and stomach and chest. SkekVar leans up, panting and they kiss hungry and sloppy.  
“Enough!” SkekSo snarls again, “Enough, enough.” but more to himself than SkekVar, wriggling down his stomach, cocks trailing precum down his slave's bloody thigh as he draws away again. He grumbles to himself, shaking out his spines, trembling with restraint, and picks up his pinwheel,  
“Now, General, what was promised to you earlier.” 

He grabs SkekVar’s cocks and pins them to his stomach, yanking them to pull out the sensitive root from the protection of the wet lips. SkekSo licks his beak and his slave groans at the sight, his head craned up to watch the torture. SkekSo presses the pinwheel to the underside of his bloated cocks and SkekVar yelps and then wails as the pins stab up his length, pricking him over and over without relief. He writhes and his master tuts,  
“Careful, I might cut you by accident.” he chuckles.

SkekVar whimpers and presses his eyelids together, squeezing them until tears wet his eyelashes, in resistance against the pain. His master licks his tears from the bony ridges of his cheeks,  
“Delicious.”

When his cocks are coated in blood his master shows him mercy and tosses the pinwheel aside to pluck up the crop again using it to spank his lips instead until SkekVar is grinding his teeth and groaning writhing and bucking with need.  
“Sire, he whimpers, sire, oh- sire!” and SkekSo chuckles, his voice rough and roughening further as he watches SkekVar’s hole dribble. He slips the head of the crop up the lips, swiping up the fluids and brings it to his beak. His nostrils flare and he wheezes and lashes out his tongue licking it up with ravenous hunger. Fat drops of drool spatter his stomach and cocks. 

“Please,” SkekVar groans, watching him with such a pitiful look, “Please,”  
He’s so pathetic when he whimpers, his bottom lip wobbling. 

SkekSo wheezes. His cocks are throbbing between his legs, they ache so painfully he can no longer ignore them. They’re leaking and dribbling over the bedsheets. The smell of SkekVar’s sex, his cocks and his hole, have buried themselves in his nostrils and his bloated pupils soak up the sight of his slave stretched out and yearning for him, wiggling and wriggling on the precum soaked bedsheets. So pitiful. So beautiful. He’d had so much planned for tonight and now he’s so hard and he can’t think of anything but fucking those fat cocks and coming. 

SkekSo reaches between them, growling, and releases the first cage. Sliding it off he drops it, it’s so slippery with precum. He snarls with impatience as he uses both hands to unclamp and fling aside the last two clamps. SkekSo yanks off his gown, flinging it away and they manoeuvre him together, onto SkekVar’s cocks. SkekVar roars as he penetrates him, bucking wildly. They trash madly against each other, panting and screeching. SkekVar’s fat, knobbled cocks batter master’s hole as he pounds him. He’ll be bruised after tonight. SkekSo screeches and SkekVar cums with a bellow, shooting deep inside his master. SkekSo yells his satisfaction in reply then climbs off, leaking cum, and hurries to sit on his slave’s chest and thrust violently into the eager wet mouth. SkekVar gags on him, drooling spit and precum, and groans as his master cums down his throat and over his tongue. They moan together, shuddering in satisfaction.

While he’s still on his chest, SkekVar slips his fingers inside his master’s stretched, cum-slippery hole and fingers him until he quivers again. SkekSo sighs as SkekVar’s fingers slip free and he sags down to sit. Wheezing, he hunches over, hands clawing at the headboard, bony body trembling. His eyes are closed, his eyelashes wet. SkekVar licks him clean, murmuring softly, sighing his affection over his skin. Eventually, his master flops off him and stretches out over the bed. 

They lie together, wet with sweat and precum and shiver in the darkness. They can’t speak, their throats are too painful so they pant and wheeze until their breathing calms into gentle sighs. The candle is burning down to the wick and SkekVar rolls over to see his Emperor before the dim light fades, see the glorious sight of him post-orgasm, still flushed with pleasure, beautiful. His master is asleep. SkekVar huffs. The corners of his mouth curl up. He leans over and nuzzles the arching cheekbones and breathes in the smell of his hair, then rolls and reaches back to pinch out the light. In the darkness, he curls around his master, tugs the sheet over the both of them loosely and presses his snout into the crook of SkekSo’s neck. They breathe together in the darkness, toys discarded, gown discarded, pretensions and performances discarded. SkekVar trails his fingertips over his beloved’s bony body. He presses a nuzzling kiss to the soft, moisturised skin. Sighs at the smell of him; their smell blending together. It’s a precious smell, this smell and one he cherishes. Eternity, he thinks, we will have this smell for eternity. Then he settles himself into the mattress and closes his eyes, immediately falling to sleep.


	44. Baby Dreams

The Emperor is standing up in the saddle of his mount, head thrown back, raven hair blowing in the wind, he laughs unrestrained. SkekVar runs over the bridge to meet him halfway and the Emperor almost knocks him down,  
"Careful, Ambassador!" He crows, "I've already killed once today!"  
SkekVar follows after him like a fizzigig, tail flapping, as the Emperor's carriages rattle over the bridge in his wake. At the great doors, the Emperor dismounts, tossing his hair and throwing his riding cloak over his shoulder.   
"Sire," SkekVar pants, breathless but not from the running.  
"A good hunt!" The Emperor declares.  
His carriages roll to a stop and he jumps up on the wheel to hoist down a carcass from the roof,  
"Admire him, Ambassador! A hearty, hale bull Landstrider. Magnificent isn't he. I killed him with my own hands!"  
It is an impressive beast, meaty and muscular and coated with coagulated almost black blood that mats the fur around its mouth and neck.   
"Magnificent, Sire! A worthy prey for an Emperor."  
The scent of blood is in the air and SkekVar feels his mouth begin to fill with saliva. The Emperor's eyes are twinkling and SkekVar knows he feels the same.  
"What are you doing here, Ambassador? I had ordered you abroad."  
"Yes, sire, forgive. I heard you were returning from your hunt, I am here only one night to congratulate you on your success."  
The Emperor scoffs. He throws the massive Landstrider into SkekVar's arms,  
"Carry this. If you will be useless to me otherwise, be useful to me now."

SkekVar follows on the Emperor's tail down the winding corridors, the carcass perched over his shoulder. He is mesmerised by the back of the Emperor's head. His mane of long, straight, black hair, matted with sweat. The long, straight creases of his black dress that cascades down his long, straight lithe body. Every crease leads down, down to the enticing tip of a tail dancing beneath the draping fabric. SkekVar wants to lift that draping fabric and follow that tail back up. A deep blue, gold-lined cape, tossed to one side, reveals a peak of a pink-blue bare shoulder. The scent of the blood seeps from the corpse and great fat droplets of saliva dribble from SkekVar's lips. His pupils are swollen and black in the darkness and his breath comes in heavy snorts.  
The Emperor throws him a sly smile over the soft skin of his shoulder, eyes creased,  
"We shall have the Gourmand butcher the beast himself."

The Gourmand's kitchens are stifling, boiling hot and heavy with steam. SkekVar is already feeling unpleasantly hot and sticky and he grimaces as the heat of the ovens blast him.  
"Emperor!" SkekAyuk cries, "and I'm in such a mess!"   
He boots aside a podling snarling,  
"Out of the way, ugly lump!" And hurries to clear the great oak table, blood-stained and with big fat legs like the Gourmand's own fat tree-trunk body. The squat Skeksis cackles with delight as the Emperor crows to him. SkekVar watches them, mute as they titter eagerly preparing for their grim business. 

The scrape of the wet stone on the carving knives splits the room. SkekVar folds his hands over his front and stands by the wall. He is sweating and not just because of the heat. The Emperor glances back at him with a look he fantasises is affectionate. The Gourmand's blade sneaks into the Landstriders belly and opens him up from hip to rib. The guts burst out, blood gushes staining the table and splattering the floor. They all moan. SkekAyuk lets the blood flow. It drains down into a gutter and will be collected later for cooking. The Emperor flicks his tongue over his beak. SkekAyuk bounces on the balls of his feet gibbering with delight as he begins the skinning. Every inch of raw red wet muscle that is exposed has them trembling, hair on end. SkekAyuk pauses to divide up the organs, tossing them into a bucket,  
"Here, Emperor," he says, offering a fat wet muscle into the Emperor's eager claws, "the mighty heart."  
The Emperor hisses and jams it into his mouth ravenously, snapping and tearing with his beak. His face is splattered with blood. SkekVar groans. Beneath his robes he is hard and straining and he risks a brief rub of his fingers over his members through the heavy material.   
The Emperor chuckles,  
"Throw the Ambassador a lung or liver, Gourmand. He has had a long journey."  
SkekVar, of course, ate during his journey and after he arrived and just before the Emperor arrived, but he is ravenous and he catches the lung in his open mouth and gulps it down whole, choking on it. When it's gone he licks around the inside of his own mouth and laments. The Emperor's beak is still flapping as he licks his hands clean of coagulated blood. SkekVar stares at him, pupils bloated, and imagines bathing the Emperor in blood and licking him clean. 

They stand together over the carcass as the Gourmand treats it and stare avidly, hypnotized, until the work is done.   
"Serve it for tonight's dinner." The Emperor commands.  
"Of course," SkekAyuk answers, bowing.  
"And prepare us something to eat for now, I am starving after my journey. Killing rouses the hungers in me."   
SkekVar can think of many hungers he could help the Emperor satiate but he says nothing and follows wordless in the Emperor's wake as he strides from the kitchens and into the cool dark corridors. SkekAyuk’s bellowing echoes after them, cackling with delight at the thought of deboning the carcass,  
“Empty the ovens! Throw it all out! We’re having Landstrider for the evening!”

“Come, come, Ambassador,” the Emperor coos leading him into the Emperor’s private rooms, “I am tired and sweaty after my long hard ride. Excite me with talk of foreign lands while I prepare myself to eat.”  
He draws a curtain over the open door arch of the ensuite and leaves SkekVar standing alone in his rooms, hands knotted in the front of his dress. The gentle tinkling of a bell fills the room and a group of podlings dash in carrying a bucket of hot water. The Emperor’s dress is flung from the curtain and lands in a pile on the floor,  
“Come now, Ambassador, inform me.”  
SkekVar swallows,  
“I have been abroad with the Gruenak, sire.”  
“I know that, Ambassador.”  
A black, lace garter lands on the cape. SkekVar snorts. His cocks jump. He is sweating heavily under his armour and helmet. He stares at it unblinking until his eyes ache.   
“The Gruenak are remarkably technologically advanced,” he croaks.  
“Oh?”  
“Yes, sire.”  
The Emperor’s dress springs from behind the curtain and lands in a crumpled heap. It is stained with sweat. The black garter, also wet with sweat, sits beneath, a tempting hidden treasure. His head goes clear at the thought.  
“More so than the Gelfling?”  
The gentle rushing and splashing of water begins as the Emperor bathes himself. How SkekVar longs to bathe him.  
“Ambassador!” the Emperor barks, “Fat-headed fool!”  
“Yes, sire!”  
“How strange,” the Emperor continues, “And how do they come by this technology? Not by themselves, surely?”  
“They say they were offered some by a strange race who wished to be served and worshipped but they refused further engagement. They desired their independence.”  
“Intriguing. And the Gelfling have made such little trade with them.”  
“They will not trade with the Gelfling, not in technology.”  
There’s a loud splashing and Skekvar takes out his handkerchief and wipes the sweat from beneath his helmet.   
“And why’s that, Ambassador?”  
“Because they do not like the gods the Gelfling worship.”  
There is a pause in the splashing and then the Emperor’s deep, musical laugh echoes around the tiled en suite,  
“Wonderful!”  
“Sire?”  
“Wonderful!” The Emperor stands and there is a great rush of water into the brass tub, “Perfect, Ambassador! You have hit upon it.”  
“Upon what, sire?”  
“You have been begging me for a war, Ambassador, and now you have found your excuse.”  
The curtain flies back and the Emperor stands, wet, hair flat against his skull, draped in a loose black gown that fearlessly highlights his broad angular shoulders and shapely hips and bares his muscular calves and arms. SkekVar is dumbstruck. The Emperor grins,  
“The Gruenak despise us. Let SkekNa get to work sowing seeds of division. Let him rile them up against us until they force us into a preemptive war.”  
SkekVar snorts,  
“Sire!” He barks, voice rough and warm with excitement. His tail wags at the mere thought of a long bloody conflict.  
SkekSo purrs,  
“Come, follow. We will address this to my subjects over dinner. No doubt that will make for an exciting meal.”   
SkekVar follows with a pep in his step, tail dusting the floor. 

The Emperor informs them all over dinner of his plans and Chamberlain is of course not pleased but so be it. SkekVar is delighted, SkekGra is delighted, SkekLach is delighted, as are all of the other non-cowardly Skeksis. SkekNa is eager to sow distrust and hatred and they all agree that it is a marvellous plan. 

When the dinner is done and the wine quaffed SkekVar departs hurriedly to his quarters and locks himself in. He stands, knees knocking, just inside of the door and reaches into the folds of his robes. He draws out his closed fist. Opens it slowly. Scrunched in the palm of his hand is the Emperor’s black garter. He holds it up to his beak and breaths in heavily, shuddering and drooling. The Emperor’s scent is intoxicating. How he longs to lie draped over the Emperor in bed, licking the sweat from his neck and breathing in his heady scent. He throws himself into the bed grinning and buries his face in the garter. A war, with him at its head, will give him ample opportunity to earn the Emperor’s favour. Finally, the Emperor will notice him and recognise his superiority. His prime candidacy to be the Emperor’s bed-mate. He will serve him so well on the battlefield and in the bed that the Emperor will favour him with his eye without a doubt and without end. He grins at the garter, tail wagging. The future is bright for SkekVar: young and handsome and full of ambition. Without doubt all of his dreams are soon to come true.


End file.
